


I never meant to drown you too

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chamber of Secrets, Horcruxes, Legilimency, Minor Character Death, Multi, Purebloods (Harry Potter), Slug Club, Stream of Consciousness, two psychopathic weirdos making friends and falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 09:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: Abraxas would only admit it now. Tom had been a mistake, a beautiful, wonderful, horrible mistake, that was slowly drowning them all.Basically Abraxas' life with Tom Riddle from 1938 to 1975





	1. A beginning

**Author's Note:**

> The ages/events may not line up perfectly with the canon but I have tried to keep them as similar as I can, except where there is so little known, then I kinda made it up
> 
> I also need to credit the movie 'Kill your darlings' for inspiring some of this fic

When he had first met Tom, he hadn’t understood how important that moment would be. He’d seen nothing in the boy whose face wasn’t yet cut from glass. He’d just been a face in the crowd, an unimportant presence that pressed on no one’s mind. That didn’t change for a long time.  
Tom was clever, always the top of the class. They didn’t ignore him, he just wasn’t willing to integrate himself with the rest of them, especially not a Malfoy. Tom seemed to despise everything that Abraxas was and everything that he stood for. With the rest of them, Tom didn’t even pass a negative judgement, he passed no judgement at all. He just didn’t care.  
Even now, Abraxas doubted if he’d ever seen anyone so apathetic about everything, someone so unfeeling, so cold. Tom’s gaze alone, could extinguish a forest fire, no one wanted to be on the receiving end of that frosty glare.  
So, Abraxas had ignored him. Tom hadn’t been anything like the rest of them: he didn’t have a family that would cater to his every need, didn’t have a vast pool of wealth that he could cleanse himself with. He had nothing so there was no need for them to be friends. Tom was unimportant, a worthless nothing that he had no reason to pay attention to.  
~  
That all changed when they were in their fifth year and that pretty face first showed itself to the world. Abraxas had hardly recognised that gorgeous boy who sat opposite him in the train carriage. Abraxas had tried to place him, little could be detected of the boy that had been so unimportant. Just a hint in that smile and a flicker in his eyes told them this was the person they had ignored for so long, the one who had been worthless; though now he seemed anything but.  
Tom was still apathetic. Still, he didn’t really care about anyone or anything, but there was something else. He started sitting with them, started talking, started saying such interesting things. All the others looked to Abraxas for directions, Abraxas would decide his fate and he’d been too intrigued to abandon Tom, so he’d stayed.  
Abraxas had never realised how charming his acquaintance could be. Such pretty words spilt from that pretty mouth. He spun them spider webs that kept them quiet, such lovely lies they would believe to their dying days. He told them they could be great if they wanted to, they could be everything, that they could create the new world order if only they were willing to listen. His spell wrapped their head in wool until all they could see was this new world. The brilliant new world that was ruled by six schoolboys.  
Abraxas watched as he lost all he had once had. They stopped following him, stopped taking his words as God’s. Tom was their new God and now they followed his path. The one that fell hardest was Lestrange. Abraxas had seen how his eyes watched Tom. Had watched as wide innocent eyes became murky, as water does when someone digs into the clay beneath. Lestrange was never the same. His smiles were crueller, his heart more callous, and a nasty malicious streak ran closer to the surface. He was completely devoted to Tom, like a pathetic dog or some other inferior creature. But he was not the only one to fall. Tom slowly became a sickness that lingered everywhere, he infected everyone’s hearts and rotted them from the inside out. Abraxas could taste it in the air, a sourness that never left them no matter where they went.  
~  
Abraxas had never known what to think. There was something about Tom, something that was as thrilling as it was unnerving. The way he smiled seemed to show he had a thousand secrets. Abraxas didn’t like that his expensive world was shaken by Tom, but he’d never thought someone so common could have been so interesting, and yet Tom was the pinnacle of interesting. Even when the entire was so deeply unsettled by such disturbing happenings, Tom was calm, he did not change his routine or way he smiled. He was completely unaffected by the panic.  
Abraxas had been the only one to find out Tom’s little secret. The reason he could be so composed during such times. As it had gotten him what he wanted, Abraxas’ wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d followed him. After all, in the Slytherin common room when everyone is always watching, Tom couldn’t have expected to sneak off every night and not to leave a string of rumours behind him.  
The first and only time Abraxas ever saw fear in Tom’s face was then when Abraxas found him in that chamber, with that thing. Tom hadn’t bothered to explain or to excuse anything, it was exactly what it looked like. Abraxas knew he should have done something, said something perhaps, but the way Tom clarified it, made it seem almost – good. Was there really any harm in scaring those whose birth so sullied wizard-kind? Abraxas did not think so, and neither did Tom.  
After a few moments of staring at each other, waiting, figure the other would react, Tom had shown him what he could do, and Abraxas had done nothing but watched in awe. It was then he understood what ‘once in a generation’ meant. His mother liked people like that, the ones who shone brighter than everybody else. It was beautiful to see how Tom shined and Abraxas liked to bask in his glory.  
They were closer after that. Abraxas sharing little things about society that Tom didn’t understand. He showed him how much a name was worth, how much a reputation could guarantee. Tom was captivated, fascinated, he’d never seen money, never understood it, not like Abraxas who was so smothered in expense that he felt completely naked without it. There was no denying that Tom understood every word he said, understood the simple fact that he needed Abraxas by his side.  
~  
They stayed together more often, lying outside under the grey sky. They lay just far enough apart for there to be no talk of what existed between them. They were just good friends who liked to be outside when the air turned cold and buzzing sulphuric clouds filled the sky.  
They liked to be close, it gave Abraxas reassurance and Tom something else, Abraxas thought it was a sense of security, a Malfoy would never make a bad name for himself, could never be a scapegoat. So, Tom stayed close, with the proud knowledge that he practically untouchable. Hands eventually strayed, fingers touching each other nervously, twisting themselves together. Tom liked to wrap his fingers in Abraxas’ hair, it was so soft he said; Abraxas liked to look at Tom as if he were one of those Renaissance statues his father liked so much. A face carved from marble and filled with detail, such an intensity and purpose, such beauty.  
Tom was always cold, but his hands felt nice, so did his forearm. Abraxas liked to draw on it, twirling pretty inked patterns onto his skin. The dark colours stood out so violently on Tom’s pale skin as if he were branded, marked and thus held an allegiance to some higher power. Sometimes when Abraxas was feeling ambitious he drew skulls, on other days it was snakes coloured with green ink, and thickly drawn numbers. Tom liked the number seven, because it was special, such a powerful number. Abraxas preferred the number eight because it looked like infinity and that was a very powerful thing.  
~  
They talked late at night and early in the morning and whenever they could. Abraxas was sure people must have noticed. How could they have not? Two teenage boys were never as close as they were. They could spend infinity just staring at each other. Tom was the brightest star Abraxas had ever seen and he wanted to keep him forever to enjoy by himself, kept like a fairy in a jar.  
It was then when a summer storm lashed against the window but a quidditch match was still happening and the others had all gone to watch, that he first let Tom into his head, and Tom let him into his. Many times Tom had asked, murmured to him all the things they could understand about each other, but Abraxas hadn’t been sure if he wanted to understand his friend like that, wasn’t sure he wanted to know the madness that made Tom’s mind so inexplicably brilliant.  
But now he had accepted, finally given in, finally needed to see the raw part of Tom that lurked in the shadows of his mind. They sat looking into each other’s eyes and they’d learnt so many things, such wonderful things and such sickening secrets. Abraxas should have been disgusted by the things that hovered through Tom’s head but instead, he’d been excited, excited that other people thought such dark things, that other people, that Tom himself, didn’t understand the world either.  
They’d sat there, on the bed, exploring each other for hours. When it was finally over Abraxas could barely remember who he was, all he’d known was Tom was by his side and always would be. They’d laid down together, hand in hand, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain and feeling the chill in the air. Abraxas had never felt closer to anyone in the world. Tom had everything he’d ever wanted, he fulfilled the desires of every sense and made Abraxas’ hands shake and his stomach twist itself into knots.  
Tom shared everything with him, at least he thought it was everything. He never seemed to hide his ambitions or what they meant for the rest of the world. He shared his hatred and his love, he revealed everything, and it was devastating to hear somebody so capable speak so bluntly. Abraxas advised him when it was necessary, helped him with the little things, taught him how to keep up appearances, how to lie, how to do unspeakable things. He was the one who taught Tom about the unforgivable curses. They were open secrets in old pureblood families, what children were taught when they came of age. He taught Tom the stories, the ancient prophesies, about dark powerful magic and dark powerful wizards.  
~  
He watched as Tom lured a girl to her death, never saying anything, never stopping it, he supposed that made him an accomplice; the thought thrilled him. Myrtle was so easy to charm, so easy to impress. She liked to watch them together when she thought no one was looking. Tom said her head was empty, that she was a mudblood with nothing to add to the world. But still, he indulged her, said kind things, let her childish fantasies feature him and only him. Let his dark eyes seem to say a thousand things when really, they contained nothing but loathing. It was beautiful to watch, fascinating to see someone fall so completely under Tom’s spell.  
After she died there was a new glitter in Tom’s eyes, an enthralling glow that made Abraxas want to be forever by his side. So, when Tom asked him for a favour he accepted without question. Together they let that half-wizard take the fall for what Tom’s creature did. The way Tom smiled should have terrified him, but Tom was beautiful and never let the nasty side of him be seen. He taught Abraxas how to be a two-faced deceiver, how to spin the world silver lies and Abraxas had drunk up his words like a man in the desert, never once feeling the twinge of guilt that should have engulfed him.  
He’d noticed after that Professor Dumbledore always seemed to be around them. He’d seen him watching them from the upper floor windows and the end of corridors, Tom always smiled but he never pretended to be nice. The smile he gave Dumbledore was one of knowing. One of power. One of someone who knows they were going to do great things. Abraxas had loved that smile.  
~  
He’d invited him home that summer. He wanted to show him what it meant to be a Malfoy, in his heart he knew he’d wanted to give Tom a reason to keep him around. His mother had loved him, such a charm, such a handsome face, such a lovely boy. His father had looked at Tom liked he saw something else, but Tom’s words convinced him such worries were unnecessary. His parents accepted Tom, it gave them a reason to ignore Abraxas. They were left alone and that was exactly what they wanted.  
He showed Tom what money could buy. The gardens and the pavilions and the houses and the parties and the paintings and the jewels; the glittering expense that made the Malfoys the imperial family. Tom was drunk on it all, the way of life that some people lived, the excess and immoderation had made him dizzy, sick to his core but so desperate to be a part of it.  
~  
Lying side by side, hand in hand on the bed was the best time of Abraxas’ life. Tom’s hands were still cold but there was a fire in his eyes, a sort of awakening to what the world could be, and Abraxas had indulged his friend’s curiosity. Now there were no time constraints on them, they stayed together all night, heavy eyes always fighting sleep. They would lie on their stomachs on Abraxas’ bed and read, looking for Tom’s parents. Abraxas knew he was the only one who would ever know Tom’s half-blood status, it was a secret that he prized and one he knew Tom would make him regret ever sharing.  
They fell asleep like that. Abraxas resting lightly against Tom’s shoulder and Tom lying with his head in a book. If anyone ever thought it was strange, they never said anything, Abraxas assumed his parents never cared enough to wonder what their son did with his friends, not that it should have concerned them.  
Tom was swept up by the money and Abraxas liked to watch him when he was just slightly out of his depth. Whilst Tom was charming, his pleasantness rarely survived an entire evening, so Abraxas took him by the arm just before he could reveal any brutal truths to anyone important and led him out to the garden. They passed hours sitting on the edge of the fountain, looking at the stars and wondering whether fate would keep them together.  
Although their hands were always entwined, Abraxas wished for more; he wanted to know what Tom’s lips would feel like against his own, whether they were soft and delicate, whether they were warm and dry, whether they tasted as sweet as they looked. But Tom didn’t care for sentimentalities and Abraxas knew he was foolish to fall in love with someone whose gender matched his own. You couldn’t do that, it was wrong, and frankly disgusting, to quote his father, but that didn’t stop him dreaming of a life with Tom and how different it would be to the world he was going to enter. It was no secret what the future held for him, and he liked to wonder whether falling for Tom would change that. Though he knew deep down, he didn’t have the strength to flee from his family, they would find him and bring him home, or worse abandon him. They could leave him with nothing and then he’d be of no use to Tom at all and he would lose everything. So, he kept his mouth shut, and his feelings in his heart, and was simply grateful for the short moments he could hold Tom’s hand.  
~  
That August he went with Tom to the Muggle village he had been so anxious to find. He waited outside the shack while Tom talked. Frankly glad Tom had wanted him to go into such a dilapidated hovel. He kicked stones outside and watched the birds, one stood for a long time on the fence post, only to be disturbed by Tom furiously slamming the gate.  
He’d never seen Tom’s eyes so dark or seen the way his face twisted, somehow making his beautiful features ugly. He’d asked him to explain but Tom had just walked on, he followed more out of curiosity than anything else. Tom never stopped until they were outside that mansion.  
Tom told him to wait outside and he had, although he had moved closer to the window. He’d heard the discussion slowly get louder. Nasty words passed everybody’s lips. Clipped sentences and harsh phrases and curses and shouts and then silence.  
Abraxas had looked through the window, Tom was standing alone looking almost scared. He’d gone inside the house and faced a foreign wand against his throat. Tom was shaking, the wand trembled in his hand. They’d looked at each other and Abraxas had barely recognised his friend, a shadow had settled on his face.  
Tom had told him to leave. He’d refused. Tom had shouted at him. Abraxas had left. He’d heard a wretched sobbing as soon as he was gone, but he walked away. Somehow, he knew Tom would get over this minor harrowing of his heart. Although, perhaps he wouldn’t, after all, they’d never raised their voices to each other, they’d never fought before, but Tom had never killed anyone before.  
Abraxas hadn’t been surprised by the three corpses in that mansion. He thought perhaps he should have, but something had always told him that Tom would do something like this. Tom wasn’t subtle, he didn’t like a slow revenge, he liked results quick, the evidence of his exertion before him instantly. So, Abraxas wasn’t surprised by three terrified faces, only how similar one looked like Tom. He had wondered momentarily, as he walked away, whether Tom would hate his face now, knowing who it looked like.  
~  
As he sat alone in his room, waiting, he didn’t feel scared for Tom, something told him he would sort it out, tie up every loose end. Tom was methodical like that, and Abraxas knew if he needed help, he would be the first point of call.  
Hours went by as he’d lain there looking at the ceiling feeling lost without Tom beside him. Waiting, wondering whether Tom would talk about it or whether he’d go into that heavy brooding silence he always used when he was angry. It was usually an unnerving silence that put everyone on edge, made them tip-toe around subjects as if the slightest mention would set off an unexploded shell.  
For a moment Abraxas had been scared for Tom, for what this would mean, at the same time though, he was in awe. There was reverence to be held for someone who was willing to do that with so little regard for – everything. It made him shiver with an anticipation he didn’t understand, a thrill that seemed to take a hold of his entire body: it was electrifying to know a real murderer, especially one who wouldn’t get caught.  
He’d sat up when there was a knock at the door, he’d thought it would be a servant telling him his friend was in his room and asking whether everything was all right between them. It wasn’t. It was Tom himself.  
His friend had stood there, for a moment, just looking at Abraxas. There was something different about him, a new meaning had been brought to his smile, a danger he’d never had before. No longer was Tom’s power just a rumour, just a potential, he’d discovered something about himself and now he couldn’t hide it. He was beautiful in that moment, his whole body giving off an electricity so that the air around him was deeply charged. Expectation filled the room, suffocating both of them. Abraxas couldn’t take his eyes off Tom, not when raw magic was dripping from him like water and his face was illuminated with such an understanding.  
Tom had stood before him, hands still shaking but no tears left in his eyes. He had broken free from whatever had been restraining him and now he had a surge of reckless abandon. Their hands found each other. Abraxas stood up, eyes level with Tom’s, feeling like this was the defining moment in his life. Tom touched his hair, running a single finger down its length, cold, damp fingers traced up his neck and touched his lips. Tom had told him he was beautiful, like an angel made of glass. They had both leaned closer then, so close, so very close; Tom’s breath hot on Abraxas’ lips and the heady static of devastating magic smothering the air around them. Tom had pressed his lips to Abraxas’ own and Abraxas let himself be choked by such beautiful magic.  
They hadn’t slept that night. Instead, they kneeled on the floor, hands pressed together, exploring each other. Kissing one another like this was the last time they would ever be together. Abraxas didn’t remember moving to the bed, but they had, lying on it, Tom beside him, lips never leaving each other, hands running across the other’s clothes. Outside the thunderous rumble of a storm pounded against the glass but Abraxas heard nothing but the beating of his own heart and the heavy breaths of Tom.  
Abraxas had never known there were so many ways to kiss the same person, but every single one was stained with feeling, emotions Tom couldn’t articulate but so desperately wanted to say.  
Still lying next to each other when a grey sun started to creep across the room, Tom told him everything while Abraxas outlined his face, listening carefully, only speaking when Tom needed him to and always reassuring. At that moment, Abraxas let himself fall, Tom was more than he could have ever imagined, more than anyone could ever understand, and he was overcome with the brilliance.


	2. A horcrux

If any of their friends saw anything different in their relationship, they didn’t say anything. When they returned to school, feeling so much older and so much wiser, no one guessed what they had been doing. No one saw the kisses on their lips or how Tom’s fingers brushed Abraxas’ wrist, stroking his forearm. The only thing anyone noticed was Tom’s pretty ring, although no one knew where he’d got it from.   
Abraxas wondered whether anyone really cared what they did, no one seemed to. The only one who even noticed was Lestrange, his dark eyes always filled with Tom’s spectral presence. His eyes always narrowed when they passed over Abraxas as if he knew all the filthy things Abraxas was starting to think about doing – with Tom. The gaze made him blush and Lestrange raise an eyebrow, but he never said anything. It was as if there was an invisible string keeping his mouth sealed.   
Abraxas learnt much in that first term back, when he was an equal to Tom. He learnt Tom liked to keep him close, show him off to the others. He liked it when Abraxas lay on the chaise longue, head in Tom’s lap, talking as if nothing was out of the ordinary. If anyone thought there was something improper they didn’t dare say anything, Tom’s eyes were made of razors and a single glare could make your fingers bleed. So, the others, in their collective obscurity, sat in silence and watched how Tom’s hands touched Abraxas’ hair so gently, and how Abraxas smiled knowing he was the favourite.   
Once, Rosier had said something, Abraxas hadn’t heard what it was, but Tom had. Rosier suffered an unfortunate accident the next week. Apparently, he performed a charm badly and ended up in the hospital wing for a week. But Abraxas knew, he knew because Tom had told him. Told him in the dark when they should have been asleep. He’d come to sit on his bed, eyes bright with the same electricity as they had had that summer night, and he’d pressed his lips to Abraxas’ own. In between soft slow kisses he’d told him every depraved detail of Rosier’s pain. It had felt so intimate, just the two of them hidden by the bed-curtain: talking and kissing. Abraxas could already feel his heart slipping away from him and falling into Tom’s wicked hands. He didn’t know whether Tom really understood what their talks in the dark meant, or whether they actually meant anything at all.   
After that summer Dumbledore actively sort out to find them, it was quite satisfying to know he already saw a threat in Tom, already saw what a wonder he could be, and Tom wasn’t afraid to smile that lovely smile, and challenge Dumbledore from across the corridor, eyes fixed on each other, neither backing down.   
After Dumbledore decided Tom was a lost cause, he turned to Abraxas, implored him not the follow the same path, not to ruin himself. He still remembered what he’d replied: that he didn’t care, that he knew himself, that unlike him he wasn’t scared of what his friend could do. That was the day that every Slytherin who respected them had turned their back on Professor Dumbledore. Their entire year had gone silent, the collective personification of Abraxas’ reaction: they were cold and stubborn and sure of themselves. It had given Abraxas a newfound sense of power, to know that they already had people behind them. The other houses murmured, whispered about what dark force crept through the Slytherin corridors, what shadow moved but dared not yet show its face. Never did suspicion fall on Tom, Abraxas had taught him well, his reputation never faltered, he was even credited with bringing an end to the very stalemate he’d helped create. It was so beautiful to see how easily people fell, fell to charisma, fell to the lure of unending magnetism, fell to the temptation of money. Abraxas learned that term that people were easily ruined, easily controlled if you knew what they wanted most.   
~  
The leaves had fallen and there was the crunch of frost underfoot when Tom first mentioned the word horcrux. It had been in something he was reading, an old book he got from the section reserved for those of exceptional capability.   
Tom had always wanted to live forever and ever since Abraxas had first told him the meaning of infinity, he’d wanted to be the first to find the way to achieve it. He’d watched Tom search through a thousand books, eyes scanning, fingers trembling as they turned the pages. He’d never expected for Tom to actually find the answer he wanted.   
After Abraxas had read it they’d looked at each other, waiting expectedly for the other to say something, anything, to confirm whether it was a good idea. The long silence that hung suspended between them gave them all the answers they would ever need. Tom smiled, the golden autumn light encircled his head like a halo. He was a step closer to becoming an angel and Abraxas wasn’t going to stop him. Why should he? This was the first time anyone had ever done this, they were pushing all the known boundaries of magic and that was the second most thrilling thing in the world. The most, was Tom’s hands on his cheeks, grounding him, letting him share in this fantastic moment, and that look in his eyes. For a second Tom’s face faded, in that second, he understood, he glanced around their small corner of the library before kissing Abraxas. Hands smoothing his hair, nails scraping his scalp and down his neck. Every nerve was alive, and Abraxas kissed him back, wanting more than ever to be physically merged with Tom, to never be separated or disconnected from this wonderful creature for the rest of his life.   
~  
Although the discovery was good, it wasn’t enough for Tom. He needed more information that even the most restricted books could never give him. Instead, he set his sights on the one knowledgeable person that could possibly give them everything they needed to know.   
Professor Slughorn was their head of house. The one who was meant to be their guiding light in the dark, the one who should answer all their questions, and the one who would, as long as they were phrased in that perfect way.   
Initially, Tom had intended to be the one to ask, but then he’d decided it should be Abraxas. He said it was the way that Slughorn looked at him. Abraxas supposed he was right, Tom usually was. Whenever Slughorn’s gaze passed over Tom it was so filled with veneration, and adoration, and awe. There was too much adulation in that gaze for Tom to be the one, at least not at first. Thus, Abraxas had been the first to approach.   
Sitting at the large table of the Slug Club, along with Tom and eight or so other students from all the houses, Abraxas ate dessert lethargically. Tongue licking a dribble of ice cream as it ran down the spoon before taking the head in his mouth and sucking on it deliberately slowly. When he put the spoon back into the bowl, he looked up. Some Gryffindor was speaking but Slughorn wasn’t looking at them, no, Slughorn’s eyes were fixed on Abraxas’s lips. Abraxas smiled, dragging his eyes over his head of house. Then he looked away, pretending to be embarrassed. He caught Tom’s eyes later, they sparkled, so proud of him.   
Later, in the common room, they’d laughed together, laughed until Tom’s face turned serious and he shared the rest of his plan. Abraxas had raised his eyebrows on more than one occasion, but he said nothing. Tom’s plan was good, it achieved exactly what they both wanted and shouldn’t have been too hard to achieve. Of course, they had made assumptions, assumptions that later proved to be entirely incorrect, it would be one of the only oversights Tom would ever make.   
Abraxas had slowly integrated himself into Slughorn’s life, assimilating himself with all Slughorn’s favourite things, until the perfect moment came to become so much more than just an anonymous student, so much more than a nameless face in the crowd.  
That perfect moment wouldn’t come for several months, until just after Christmas. Abraxas had worked his way around the table until he was sitting opposite Slughorn and he could see when his professor’s eyes were on him. Though these days they rarely left his lovely face. He’d spent months cultivating the perfect image, no longer was he a pureblood whose parents would get him whatever he wanted. Now he was the next up-and-coming political star who would soon come of age in one of the most impressive dynasties to ever exist in the wizarding world. Others had seen the change in him, his willingness to study late, to engage in the complex diplomatic discussions that so often filled the common room. What they didn’t know though, was what had sparked this sudden change, the sudden desire to actually achieve, but most people did not seem to dwell on the issue. What was important was that Abraxas Malfoy was finally living up to his potential, and the house of Slytherin was all the better for it.   
As a result, when he sat across from Slughorn, hair tied back aside a couple of strands that framed his face so nicely according to Tom, the latter couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from, what everyone had always assumed was a student that had a name but no substance of their own. Abraxas had been nervous when all the others filed out, including Tom, Slughorn had looked at him and they had stayed like that for a moment, looking at each other in silence, waiting.   
He’d stood up and come a little closer, not inappropriately, but just enough to suggest. He’d asked if he could request something from his favourite professor, and Slughorn and gestured for him to sit. He did, in one graceful movement he slid himself onto the table, legs dangling off, one flat palm on the table’s surface just a foot away from Slughorn, the other placed casually on his thigh; the paleness of his skin making his hand stand out against the black robes. Once he was comfortable, he’d leaned a little closer making sure to show off every devastating angle of his body, and politely asked for some private tutoring. He didn’t need it, nor did he particularly want it, but Slughorn liked to feel like he was helping, even if he really wasn’t. With his widest, most innocent eyes he asked if they could start now. The way Slughorn had looked at him, mouth taking too long to form words, had made all of this worth it. There was so much need, so much longing in that gaze that it made him dizzy. He imagined this was how Tom felt all the time, whenever anyone looked at him they were always dumbstruck, and god did it feel good.   
Slughorn had refused to tutor him so late at night, and so Abraxas had politely departed, managing to keep the smile off his face until he was back in their dormitory. Back behind the curtains of Tom’s bed where they could laugh together at the expense of others.   
The oversight they had unwittingly stumbled upon came to light in the first weeks of Spring, when what Abraxas was doing, started to cross the boundaries of what was appropriate student behaviour, not that Slughorn would ever rebuke his second favourite student, and he was the second favourite. The favourite was, of course, Tom, his unique talent was a frequent topic of ‘subtle’ questioning. But Abraxas didn’t mind being the second choice because like this he could learn, persuade Slughorn to talk about what was so wonderful about Tom and then artfully emulate it. He was slowly becoming the body on which Slughorn projected his visions for Tom, his dreams, his hopes and more recently his desires, his surreptitious fantasies.   
Their careless oversight had been that Slughorn had actually done this before; the further Abraxas pushed the limits, the more he came to realise that Slughorn, for all his inexcusable fantasies, had never actually touched a student. It made Abraxas smirk to know he would be the first, the one who would never be forgotten, the one that would be burned forever in memories Slughorn would do his best to both remember and forget. Unfortunately, their oversight also meant progression was slower than had been intended and Tom was getting anxious as if his seventeen-year-old self could feel the life draining from it already. He snapped often, turned too quickly to the most violent solutions, and would have become completely unbearable had it not been for Abraxas by his side, like a diamond, reflecting out his best parts to the world, and hiding all the ugliness he knew dwelt within.   
He didn’t discuss what he did on weekday evenings with Tom, he thought it was too indecent for his angelic ears and anyway, Tom never seemed to care about things like that. So, he never knew when Abraxas first got on his knees, breath shallow and eyes glazed with an artificial longing. Slughorn hadn’t seen past his pretty face, hadn’t really questioned Abraxas’ motivations for giving himself so easily. If he was honest he hadn’t enjoyed the first time or the second, but by the third, he was getting the hang of it. He’d learnt to close his eyes and think of Tom, learnt how to curl his tongue just right and learnt how much Slughorn liked him to touch himself, to hear his moans catching in his throat.   
On the last week before the Easter holiday, Tom had decided that he would try and initiate the second part of his plan. It should have gone smoothly, Tom innocently coming to ask a question and discovering something he shouldn’t have, then using that to his advantage. It did not go as smoothly. Abraxas played his part perfectly, kneeling between Slughorn’s considerable thighs, lips stretched wide, his own hand sliding down his stomach doing everything he shouldn’t have been. Tom did not play his part. He’d come in quietly enough and then stopped. Abraxas had seen him out the corner of his eye and he’d turned his head ever so slightly, feigning tucking his hair behind his ear. Tom hadn’t moved. Instead, he stood stationary, eyes fixed on Abraxas, mouth open slightly. Abraxas had done his best to remind him what he was here for, but Tom’s gaze crawled down his body, lingering on everything it shouldn’t have. Abraxas had moaned, and Tom had left.   
When Abraxas returned to the common room, Tom was sitting there alone, not reading or writing just sitting waiting. They’d stared at each other for a minute, Abraxas in disbelief, Tom in the closest thing he would ever get to humiliation. He had asked what had happened, Tom had just walked away. When he followed him, he continued to walk. Too embarrassed or too ashamed to admit what had got to him.   
Lying awake that night, Abraxas had let himself wonder whether it was him. He’d like to have that effect on people, especially people like Tom. In his mind he turned Tom’s expression over and over, trying to read every little emotion into it. Trying to find what probably wasn’t there.  
They didn’t talk about it, not that night, or the next morning or for another year. Instead, Tom focussed on implementing phase two again. Abraxas had questioned his role and Tom had snapped that he had it under control, Abraxas doubted that he did. In those few days, something was off about Tom, he wasn’t sloppy as such, just blurred like he was constantly fighting something that had awoken within him. However much Abraxas implored him to share it though, he never did, it wasn’t the time, or it just didn’t matter. Eventually, he gave up asking, Tom would share it with him if it ever became important.   
The second time they executed their plan it worked. Slughorn had sprung away from him so fast and Abraxas had turned to see Tom’s expressionless face watching them, his eyes fixed on Slughorn’s and never once glancing at him. Tom had apologised and attempted to withdraw, playing the innocent student so perfectly. Slughorn all but begged him to stay whilst hurriedly dressing.  
The three of them had sat, awkwardly, around a table. Tom had explained simply and politely that he didn’t think any less of Slughorn, nor would he report anything to anyone, if, and only if, his head of house would answer some of his more sinister questions about the true extent of magic. Slughorn had readily agreed, Tom had smiled, and Abraxas had stayed silent. They had laughed back in the common room and all thoughts of their first attempt were apparently forgotten.   
It wasn’t long before Tom got what he needed, a simple suggestion that a wizard was not necessarily limited to a single horcrux. Slughorn had been uncomfortable apparently, but Tom had smiled that special smile and waved it away as an intellectual curiosity, and not something he himself would ever dare to do. Slughorn had smiled faintly, more anxious to keep his nasty little secret than to worry too much about Tom’s more dubious academic pursuits.   
Although Abraxas continued to offer his services to his professor, the ardour had gone from their relationship and their meetings tailed off slowly until eventually, they stopped altogether. Abraxas did not miss them much, although he had to admit it had been an enlightening experience for both parties.   
~  
It took Tom longer than Abraxas had expected to decide to use the idea of horcruxes. For all his earlier enthusiasm, now he seemed almost frightened to test the real power of magic. The fourth time Tom had stalled Abraxas had stepped in and decided to do it himself. Tom’s eyes were wide, but he didn’t try and stop him, if anything, he encouraged it.   
The only problem they came across was Abraxas had never killed anyone, although it had been at the forefront of his mind for a while. After all the only way he could ever be equal to Tom would be to do the things Tom did.   
It did not take them long to find a way around the problem, or more specifically, it did not take Tom long. Magic, he’d said, was out of the question, Abraxas would have had to use his own wand and then the Ministry would find out and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. They also couldn’t kill a student, Hogwarts had miraculously survived the death of one, but both of them doubted it would have such luck the second time around. Therefore, it would have to be done the Muggle way and in the Muggle world. Tom explained that there was a Muggle war raging, and no one would ever notice another person dead, and to give him credit, no one ever did.   
Abraxas never knew the name of the man whose life he ended, he’d been a nameless, faceless nobody. No one important. It had been horrifyingly easy. One minute the three of them were standing on the cliffs, then it was just the two of them.   
Tom’s hand had found its way to his neck and his lips were warm. Abraxas had waited for the horrible feelings to overwhelm him, for the guilt to engulf him, but it never really came. Maybe it was Tom’s gentle reassurance or maybe it was the disturbing way Abraxas had always been.   
Slowly the thrill crept over him, the awful delight he felt in knowing what he could do. He’d turned and smiled at Tom, feeling closer to him than ever before, feeling like they were equals again. There was nothing that could stop him now, nothing and no one, he was invincible, unstoppable, indestructible. How he wished that feeling had stayed with him forever, and that those dreams did not haunt him.   
Tom could barely contain his excitement at Abraxas joining his degenerate world so willingly. His teeth were heavy against Abraxas’ neck, and his kisses were jarring, rough and crude, and nothing like they had ever been before. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have thrown himself so far into the deep, but what was done was done, and there was no use in dwelling on it anymore.   
Together they watched the last weeks of term tick past, they left together back to Abraxas’ house where they could be alone and do whatever they liked.   
~  
The day Abraxas split his soul was burned in his memory. It had been warm, a golden light streaming into his room. Tom was already up, sitting on the side of his bed, waiting. He’d told Tom to scarper while he got dressed, Tom turned his back and didn’t move. He rolled his eyes and changed as fast as he could, trying not to imagine what would happen if Tom turned around.   
They had gone out into the grounds, far out, beyond the French gardens and the orchards and into the English gardens. These were wilder, more natural.   
Abraxas split his soul in the shadow of an oak tree. He’d felt dizzy, nauseous, sick. The world started to spin before him and a white-hot burning radiated from his chest. Tom’s blurred figure stepped forwards, asking him something, using words he didn’t understand. His hearing stopped, and he was plunged into a dreadful silence, the world constantly shifting in and out of focus. He saw Tom’s hands reach for him, but his legs gave way before they could catch him.  
The first things he felt when he came to himself, was a pounding in his head and an intense heat pricking his skin, the second was the coolness of the grass on his cheek. The world seemed too bright when he opened his eyes, white light tinged green streamed through the trees. Just in front of him was a ladybird swaying on a blade of grass. He rolled onto his back and his shoulder hit something solid. He looked over, still dazed, Tom was lying beside him, on his back, staring at the rustling canopy above them.   
Tom turned and smiled, gripping his hand tighter as if to say a thousand things he didn’t know how to say. They lay there, staring at the green foliage for what felt like an eternity, at least to Abraxas. They lay there until Abraxas sat up and took a deep breath. His body felt normal again, no unnatural heat or coldness, no tingling or stinging, just him. His mind wasn’t quite so intact, he had a headache and his mouth felt dry, making his words stick in his throat.   
After he’d been sitting for some time just staring at the world, Tom had handed him his horcrux. It was his future wife’s engagement ring. Tom had looked at him for a long time when he’d first shown him it, but he’d never disagreed. Looking at it made somewhere deep inside Abraxas bubble with excitement. Now, even when he was married to whoever his parents selected, he’d always have a little thing to remember Tom by, an innocuous object that would never be lost but would always be so stained with Tom. Perhaps it was a wicked, immoral thing to do, but in that moment, Abraxas had wanted it so very badly.   
~  
That night was different to every other night. He’d been tired and had excused himself early, taking himself to bed and just lying fully clothed on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to comprehend everything that had happened.   
There had been a knock at his door, and Tom had come in just as he had done nearly a year ago. He was quieter now though, taking his time to close the door and sit on the edge of the bed. Abraxas had looked at him questioningly through tired eyes.   
He’d felt Tom in his head before Tom could reply. It was familiar by now, the gentle tread, Tom was always careful in his mind. So, he closed his eyes and let Tom do whatever he wanted, let him explore, let him understand everything that had happened to him. He expected Tom to soothe him, gently lull his tired mind to sleep, like he had done occasionally when Abraxas had looked at him with large sleepy eyes.   
Now though, Tom was not soothing his mind, in fact, he was doing the opposite: he was disturbing the quietude, twisting Abraxas’ mind in a strangely appealing way. He opened his eyes, ready to ask what Tom was doing, and why for that matter he was doing it now. But as he opened his mouth, Tom did something unspeakably good inside his head, something that made him arch his back and groan softly. When he opened his eyes again, Tom just smiled reassuringly, and Abraxas stopped caring what he was doing, concentrating instead on how nice it felt: the gentle pressure rubbing and caressing him in all the right ways. It was nice to fall asleep with Tom beside him, inside him and all around him.   
That was also the night the nightmares started. White ghostly faces haunted him, made his sleep restless and his body ache. Those nightmares never left him. During the day, he was fine, and you would never guess all the terrible things he had done, but as soon as the darkness enveloped the world, he was plagued with the featureless white face and mangled corpse of the one whose life he had ended too early.   
Tom never seemed to outwardly notice if he hadn’t slept, although Abraxas felt sure he knew a little. Certainly, on the nights when Abraxas couldn’t sleep, Tom seemed to know. He’d come and sit with him an then he’d feel that pressure in his head again. The light feathery touches of Tom as he probed his mind. That became the only sensation that truly relaxed him: Tom lying beside him, caressing his psyche, loosening his grip on reality, until the world melted away.  
~  
As soon as it became clear to Tom that he was, at least physically, in one piece. He’d decided that he should attempt to split his soul, not once but twice. Abraxas had done his best to convince him that just once would probably be sufficient, but Tom reminded him they hadn’t spent the best part of a year learning how to make horcruxes just to make one. Tom had that bright gaze back in his eyes. The one Abraxas was struggling to work out if he liked or not: part of him loathed that look, it was too reckless, too irresponsible, on the other hand though, he loved that spark of greatness. The flicker of brilliance filled with so much intensity that Abraxas ached to be a part of it.   
They went back to the tree in the morning sun. The air was more humid now, heavier as if a storm was starting to brew. It felt sticky on Abraxas’ skin making his clothes cling to him already. Tom was unfazed by the heat, stubbornly refusing to unbutton even the topmost buttons his shirt, much to Abraxas’ disappointment.   
Tom’s first attempt went well enough. His face contorted in pain, Abraxas supposed he had done the same, although he didn’t remember doing so. Tom had dropped to his knees, knuckles white as he clutched his head, throat making wretched little noises that made Abraxas want to go to him. But he did as he had promised and kept his distance.  
Tom immediately attempted the second split, despite him barely being able to stand. Scarcely a moment after the incantation left his mouth, Tom’s body hit the ground. Abraxas stared, not reacting for a minute, he hadn’t expected Tom to have the same reaction, he’d thought Tom was stronger than that. Tom still wasn’t moving, he lay there, still, the faint rising of his chest the only indication he was still alive. Abraxas began to panic. They hadn’t considered this outcome. His heart pounded, thudding repeatedly against his ribs. He was alone, not that he could have explained this to anyone. Nonetheless, he was alone, and he had no idea what to do.   
He found himself walking, stumbling really, to the motionless figure, he called out, repeating Tom’s name. Tom didn’t move. He was unresponsive, eyes closed, face blank. Abraxas was scared. He touched Tom’s shoulder, shaking it, Tom didn’t move. He tried to think, what went wrong, what part of Tom had broken. But the ever-present hammering of heart distracted him. He tried to breathe, the worst thing he could do was faint, he wouldn’t be any help lying limp on the ground. The moments stretched before him endlessly, the world spun circles around him, and Tom was still. Abraxas didn’t know how long he stood there uselessly, but it felt like an eternity.   
His saviour came in the fluttering of Tom’s eyelid. He’d crouched down, hand touching Tom’s face, perhaps too intimately. Slow and faltering Tom’s eyes opened, although Abraxas could tell, he saw nothing, a hazy glaze clouded his vision. Tom, being Tom, tried to sit up too soon. Abraxas pushed him back down against the grass. Both their hands were shaking.   
It was several hours of lying there, the hot wet air smothering him and veiling the whole woodland in a haze, before Tom’s lips moved, his cracked voice saying something he didn’t understand. Abraxas’ voice felt too loud in the repressive silence the heat had imposed.   
Tom began to see again, began to speak, began to move, Abraxas tried to hide how relieved he was. A thousand scenarios had passed through his head, each one him having to explain – everything, each one involved him losing the one greatest thing that had ever happened to him.   
Abraxas had never seen Tom so weak. Hands still too cold, still shaking, still clammy as they held his own. Tom looked beautiful like this. Eyes watching everything but seeing nothing, trying to make a sense of the shapes and colours that hung suspended above him. For the first time, Abraxas could gaze, as long as he liked, at Tom. Unimpeded he could look, he could stare, could admire every angle, every sinew, every immaculate inch of Tom. All of it displayed before him, though he dared not touch him, fearing his fingerprints would leave stains that Tom would see and then Tom would know, and nothing would ever be the same again.   
The sun passed overhead and began to fall to the West, heavy clouds rolled in, dark against the golden light of the sun. Devastating, beautiful, the dark grey swirling with pink, like petals on granite. Tom’s hand squeezed his and Abraxas had smiled at him. Tom was coming back to him, little by little, edging forward until he spoke again, and they had lain, forehead to forehead, sharing a breath, a purpose, an intimacy.   
For a while, neither of them noticed the fat droplets of rain that had started to fall. They didn’t notice until they were soaked through. Abraxas had helped Tom stand, everything was weak, helpless, so foreign to them both. Abraxas couldn’t help but appreciate the way Tom’s wet shirt clung to his skin and the way his hair fell in his eyes. If Tom noticed, he didn’t say anything.   
They stayed together that night, Tom under the covers and Abraxas on top them. The duvet came to be everything that had always stood between them: the years of people watching them, murmuring, rumours spreading. Abraxas wished he could lie with him, under the covers, the two of them against the world. After all, this summer would be the last time they were together. His mother had already started to talk of the pretty girls with their pretty names and their lovely wealthy families. He had pretended to care, smiling when he had to, nodding occasionally, but his mind was always elsewhere. Always looking, as he was now, at Tom.


	3. An understanding

When they returned for their seventh year, Tom was made head boy. It was a surprise to no one. It didn’t really change anything between them though. Tom still let Abraxas lie across him like a cat, hair splayed across his lap and back arched enviably. The others no longer commented on the strange arrangement, in fact, they were more likely to remark if Abraxas was not there. They had all learnt who Tom’s favourite was, and while there were multiple rumours as to why this was the case, no one yet had a definitive answer. Abraxas was content with that, he liked being an enigma. Someone no one else quite understood, it filled him with a childish delight, a certain smugness, that he was the only one that was ever allowed within Tom’s two-foot exclusion zone.   
During those first weeks, Tom was quieter than usual, as if constantly contemplating something. He did not join in their conservations, usually, he read during them, occasionally humming his approval at something. They didn’t mind, when Tom was involved, discussions often were too serious, too intense; it made them all uncomfortable. So, they were quite content to have Tom as a silent presence who did not interrupt their more trivial conversations: the ones about their money-drenched lives, or how dull Potions was, or about girls. Like how indecently short Parkinson made her skirt, and how Yaxley’s tits were the nicest thing in the world. Those conversations went completely over Tom’s head and that distracted Abraxas. He wondered whether Tom heard and chose to ignore, or whether he never heard at all, so engrossed he was in his book.   
Once Tom’s hand had scraped up his waist, thumb drawing little circles. Abraxas tilted his head upwards and asked what he was doing, his voice, a low murmur to stop the others hearing. Tom pretended not to hear, and his fingers didn’t stop.   
After a while, it became a standard thing, Abraxas would lie, taking up as much of the sofa as he wanted, and Tom’s fingers did whatever they wanted. Only one person ever saw, Lestrange. His eyes narrowed, and a slight glare would take over his features. Abraxas would smirk and stretch out further, knowing perfectly well what it did to Lestrange, what it made him feel. Lestrange had always worn his heart on his sleeve, but now it was just so obvious that he wanted Tom. Wanted his cold hands on him, wanted to do things to Tom that even Abraxas never dared to dream of. It was the one thing they had in common: Tom, and the insatiable longing to have pinned against the wall, breathless and impatient, their names on the tip of his tongue. But Tom didn’t do things like that out of need, Abraxas had learnt that. His touches tended to demonstrate something else, a control, a possession, a profound sense of ownership. It made Abraxas’ heart thump to think Tom wanted to keep him from the others, from everybody, after all, he wasn’t exactly short of offers for short satisfying encounters after dark. Tom wanting him all to himself was an exhilarating thought, even if it was a little frustrating, constantly being off limits, unable to fool around. As soon as he was married he would have to be an upstanding moral citizen, never doing anything with anyone who wasn’t his wife, it sounded boring but, he supposed, necessary. He’d always counted on being able to do whatever he’d wanted in his seventh year, the last year of freedom, but it hadn’t been, Tom had slithered into his world and Abraxas would be a fool to lose him now.   
~  
None of that stopped the dull ache within him though, the need to have someone against his skin, someone’s body against his own. He was bored of being Tom’s unadulterated perfection, bored of being alone, he wanted to run his hands through someone’s hair, he wants to gasp and groan as a spectre, whose face he didn’t yet know, lingered between his thighs. He’d waited so long for Tom that he didn’t really want to wait any longer.   
He knew it was stupid, pathetic really, that he sought out Lestrange of all people. The one person who actively disliked him, but that was the thrill of it. Lestrange wouldn’t be nice to him, wouldn’t be soft and gentle and all the other things he assumed his vestal wife would be. More importantly, though, Lestrange looked most like Tom. They had the same dark eyes, the same dark hair, skin far too pale. They even had that same way of glaring, a deep intensity that almost felt feral and if they stood in the shadows, it would be easy to mistake one for the other.   
They stared in silence at each other when Abraxas sat down opposite him, they didn’t study together, they didn’t even talk unless the object of their joint affections was with them. At first, Abraxas just asked the simple questions, enough to get Lestrange’s interest, make him close his books and accompany him back to the empty dormitory. He didn’t bother to pretend this was anything other than what it was, there were no flowery words, no dressing up of what should just have been an exchange. Abraxas wanting something physical, just an extension of his personal fantasy. Lestrange wanting, well he wasn’t entirely sure what Lestrange wanted out of it. Maybe the taste of Tom on his lips, or knowledge he’s taking something that belonged to Tom. Abraxas didn’t question him, he just sat on the edge of his bed, legs parted and heart pounding.   
Just as he’d hoped, from that angle it could almost be Tom between his thighs, Tom’s warm wet mouth making his hips tremble. Lestrange was slower than he’d expected and more experienced; he wondered briefly where Lestrange learnt to do that with his tongue, and who taught him to hold Abraxas’ thighs so tightly. He could feel the heat dripping down his spine and curling in his stomach. Every sensation was too intense, and he couldn’t stop little moans passing his lips. He let his head roll back and his long needy whines encourage Lestrange. The ache in his arms was becoming too much and he was ready just slump back, his back against the bed, and he would have done so, had he seen a silhouette on the opposite wall.   
When Tom showed his face Abraxas couldn’t stop himself moaning. He expected Tom to leave, now he’d seen his weaknesses, but Tom didn’t. He folded his arms, eyes fixed on Abraxas, completely ignoring person between them. Tom’s gaze on him was enough to make his body shudder and to cause him to collapse heavily against the bed.   
~  
Tom paid him more attention after that. The hand on his waist slid lower and stroked circles on his hips. Steadily, it became more and more certain, sliding between his thighs in front of everyone. Tom never seemed to notice the effect his touches had on Abraxas, they were absent-minded, almost like the hand was completely separate from the rest of Tom. He usually only realised what he had done when Abraxas excused himself early and never returned.   
There became an unspoken accord between them, that Abraxas had to abide by, it mostly involved him agreeing that his indiscretion, as Tom called it, would not be repeated. Abraxas had glared at him, told him he couldn’t be expected to sit around doing absolutely nothing without getting a little compensation. Tom had rolled his eyes, called him weak and walked off. That was always Tom’s solution, walk off until the other person realised they were wrong and came crawling back to him.  
Abraxas had been seething for the rest of the day, the whole week, agitated, uncomfortable searching for a way, any way to get back at him. He knew it was petty, of course, it was, but Tom had irritated him. His haughtiness, that sneer of superiority, the tone of his voice always so condescending. Tom did not get to be patronising just because he didn’t feel things the same. But instead of doing something about it, Abraxas had sat up late in the common room, mulling.   
He’d started when Lestrange sat down beside him and given him a small but definite smile. Lestrange had explained that it wasn’t nice to be cast into the abyss, lost to someone Abraxas so obviously liked. Apparently, he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d always liked to think he was. They had all seen Tom’s hand wandering, all seen the way Abraxas leaned into the touch, all seen the way he bit his lip and stopped listening to them when Tom’s fingers rubbed just right. They also saw how Tom kissed him in dark corridors when Abraxas had thought no one was looking.   
Everyone else thought it was obvious, Tom liked having Abraxas around, liked showing him off to everybody else, flaunting him. Abraxas didn’t know how to feel about that. He wasn’t an accessory, Malfoy’s were not accessories, they had accessories. They did what they liked, when they liked, with whoever they liked. So, when Lestrange offered to kiss him he accepted without question.   
He was so different from Tom, and Abraxas realised then, he’d only ever kissed one person. Lestrange was sloppier, made him do most of the work, his tongue was uncouth, and he tasted too much like cigarette smoke. Kissing him was nothing like kissing Tom, but that was the point, wasn’t it? To prove he could do what he wanted, that he did not belong to anyone, as much as maybe he wanted to. He did not think about Tom when he let Lestrange trail his fingers, not so subtly, to Abraxas’ waistband. Nor did he think of Tom when Lestrange touched him under the blazing indiscreet lights.  
~  
He didn’t know how Tom knew about it, but he did. It was the distance that he put between them, holding Abraxas at arm’s length as if he caused personal offence, which to be honest, he probably had. Tom was easily offended, irked by things most people wouldn’t give a second thought.  
Abraxas didn’t know why he cared though, he had no engagement with Tom, there was nothing official between them. It had been months even since they lied together in the stillness of the dark. Tom was always busy, never had the time to sit, to talk, to kiss. Abraxas was alone with nothing but a future he didn’t want to comfort him.   
He had wanted too much, he could see that now. There had been nothing wrong with what they had, and yet, he hadn’t been happy. Perhaps it was because of what else Lestrange had said during that late-night conversation. Tom had kissed Lestrange himself once, pushed him against the wall, tongue on his neck and asked him to do things, and Lestrange had done them. Lestrange said he wasn’t the only one either, that Tom always did that when he wanted someone to do something.   
~  
He lay that weekend staring at the ceiling, alone. The others came in and out of the dormitory, but he didn’t move. He just needed time, time to work out what he was, to Tom, to himself, to everyone. It seemed a shame to throw away everything they had been, but Tom didn’t seem to miss his company. Words reached his ears that Lestrange was in the hospital wing, a nasty fall apparently. But he saw Tom’s face when he came to collect a book and he had known. Tom didn’t like people who said things they shouldn’t, those people had to be taught a lesson, Lestrange would learn that soon.  
Abraxas was quieter for the rest of that term. He didn’t go home at Easter, he didn’t want to face his parents, didn’t want to listen to talk about girls and marriage and weddings and commitments. He wanted to be alone, to do what he wanted, to be his own person for the first time in his life.   
~  
On what should have been the most important day in the history of the world, the day after Grindelwald fell, Abraxas had been sitting on the edge of the lake staring out at nothing. His father had aligned himself minimally with who people had once called the greatest wizard of all time, not enough, of course, to be implicated in his crimes, but enough to have reaped any benefits. His father had always told not to get too close to those powerful people, they might just fall.   
He didn’t turn his head when someone sat beside him. He hoped by not acknowledging them, they would go away. They didn’t, instead, the two of them sat in silence, the cool breeze sweeping across the lake.   
Tom had spoken first. He’d apologised, said he was sorry for not telling Abraxas all the things he did in vague corridors, sorry for not sharing all he had promised to, sorry he hadn’t given Abraxas that attention, he was sorry. It was the only time Abraxas would hear Tom apologise for something. He had turned to face Tom’s dark eyes, they looked different, concern was scrawled all across his face. He realised then what the matter with Tom was: he’d respected Grindelwald, not necessarily his methodology or even his ideology, but definitely the fire in his heart. The disarray he’d thrown the world into had captured Tom’s imagination, had shown him how easy it was to disrupt the fragile equilibrium of authority. Now Grindelwald was gone, some people would have been disappointed, but Tom saw an opportunity. He might have been only eighteen, but Tom had ambitions and they would be realised sooner rather than later.   
Sitting by the lake, Tom took his shoes off and stayed with Abraxas, the water lapping at their bare feet. It was the first, nice moment, Abraxas had had in a long time and he took Tom’s hand before it was offered. It reminded him of when they were younger, and the world was simpler, and they’d only needed to look at each other, to know everything was all right.   
He wanted to go back to those times, back just two years, back to safety and security, back to their sanctuary in his bedroom after dark. The nostalgia in him made him say that he would join Tom in whatever he strived to do, but only as his equal.   
Tom was not his superior, he was more powerful, more persuasive, more dangerous, but not his superior. For all his ambitions, Tom still needed him, still needed all the wonderful things only the heir of the Malfoy dynasty could give him. Tom knew he was reliable as long Tom himself didn’t create a reason for him not to be.   
They agreed, together they would be the next great thing, after all, as much as perhaps he wanted to, Abraxas couldn’t abandon him now, not when he had already done so many things for Tom, with Tom. They were simply better together.   
Tom had smiled at him then, relief in his face. They had laughed together, laughed at the pitiful way all the others bowed, gave in when Tom applied the slightest pressure. Although, Abraxas had to mention just how good Lestrange was with his mouth. As soon as he’d said it Tom had studied him in a strange way and for long enough that Abraxas felt self-conscious and had to look away. Even with that strange look on his face, Tom was so perfect, eyes so dark and an agitation under his skin like the first time he had kissed him. He kissed him again now, not caring if there was anyone to see.   
He collapsed onto his back, Tom on top of him, forehead to forehead, eyes so close together that he could see every flickering colour that filled those dark whirlpools.   
Abraxas had told him then all the wonderful things he could be, extolled every virtue, eulogised him and he watched how Tom’s lips trembled and felt how the pressure of his fingers increased. It felt good to get under Tom’s skin, get him worked up, impatient, restless. Distract him from the dark moody thoughts that were gathering like a storm around him. Stressed, that was what Tom had been, stressed, tense, jittery. Abraxas could see it so clearly now; yes, Tom was excited by the fall of the greatest dark wizard of all time, but he was also scared, very scared. The reality of his destiny was finally becoming clear to him, and it was terrifying.   
Apprehension did not suit Tom, nor did frayed nerves and anxious eyes. Abraxas slid his hand from under Tom’s and smoothed his thumb along his forearm. Quickly, before Tom could stop him, he reversed their positions: Tom under him. With his fingers, he drew pretty patterns on Tom’s forearm like he had done years ago. He watched as Tom relaxed just a little bit, closed his eyes and let his head rest against the grass. Abraxas pressed his lips to Tom’s before dropping them to his neck. Mouth soft and warm against the skin just below Tom’s jaw, murmuring all the appalling words Tom didn’t like him to say. Tom sighed, it sounded more erotic than it should have done, and Abraxas with a moment of bravery had asked why he had left all aflutter from Slughorn’s apartments a year ago. Tom had smiled, not lifting his head from the grass, and simply said he’d never seen someone look so devastating before. Abraxas had kissed him again and had wanted the moment to last forever.   
~  
That night when there was no one around to see, Tom let Abraxas into the private room he had been allocated, head boy privileges he said. Lying together in the dull light of the lamp felt so nice, so special, so intimate. Tom, for a change, had asked to go inside his head and he’d agreed, only if he got to be in Tom’s. For a moment, Tom faltered, considering, brows furrowed. He acquiesced eventually and had laid on his side, staring into Abraxas’ eyes, fingers tracing his lips.   
Tom’s head was still filled with shadows that coloured everything he thought with darkness. He still had vile sickening thoughts and appalling secrets: what he had done and what he would do again and again if it got him what he wanted. The audacity to think such things was seductive, the shameless admittance of all the things Tom wanted, made his head spin. But hidden amongst the shadows there was still an innocence, a simple purity. For all the malicious things Tom had done he still had an integrity, still had a streak of virtue in his corrupted heart. He was still just a human, a mortal with extravagant dreams. Abraxas loved that part of Tom, loved that  
he was a dreamer above everything else, his dreams just happened to be grander than everyone else’s.   
Leaving his head, he took Tom’s hand in his own and kissed his fingers, never taking their eyes off each other. Abraxas took the opportunity to push Tom against the bed and straddle his waist to keep him in place. Tom looked up at him, he wasn’t nervous, more a mixture of uneasiness and intrigue, willing to let Abraxas continue because it might entertain, or at least distract him from the troubled humming of his thoughts, for a while.   
Abraxas eagerly kissed the neck Tom so readily displayed for him, leaving a trail of cherry blossom contusions down the neck and on to his chest. Tom had tensed, just a fraction when Abraxas parted his legs. He had waited for a moment, to see if Tom would stop him when he did nothing, he continued, keeping his touches light and his words gentle, he did not want to scare Tom away.   
It was so quiet now, being alone together, and maybe that was why Tom let him do this now because there was no one here, no one would ever know. Abraxas would keep Tom’s muted secrets to himself and he trusted him to never exploit his newly exposed vulnerabilities.   
Abraxas’s hand went to the waistband of Tom’s trousers, undoing the button slowly, before hooking his fingers in the belt loops and sliding his hands down Tom’s hips, pulling the clothes as he went.   
Tom’s thighs were soft, they bruised easily, and despite their paleness, Abraxas’ fingers left pinkish prints everywhere he touched, like permanent blots, reminding Tom of what he had done. He kissed down the inner thigh, the only sounds, that of his lips and Tom’s increasingly heavy breathing. Tom’s hands clutched weakly at the sheets, nails scratching them lightly. A painfully palpable pink bloom spilled down his neck, and a film perspiration slicked his skin.   
Abraxas kept his pace slow, using his tongue to lick and swirl and suck until Tom was mumbling inarticulately, every word punctuated with quiet moans.   
In this state, there was openness about Tom that Abraxas had never got to see before, a vulnerability, a trust, a complete reliance, it was beautiful. It made Tom more human and Abraxas liked that. Liked to be able to strip away the layers of heartlessness, the layers of callousness, to find a mortal at its core. Whatever Tom would say, they were still mortal, whatever Tom tried to do, he would die one day, he could delay it, but he would never have the power to cheat death. Although, Abraxas doubted that he would ever stop trying to achieve that unachievable dream.  
Lying together, eyes heavy, limbs aching; Abraxas rocking his hips, his hands touching, stroking, caressing Tom, making his throat dry and moans become increasingly needy, Tom was more mortal than ever, more corporeal, made only of flesh and blood. The shadows that surrounded him now seemed to be made from the dark raw earth, and not an endless abyss of intangible ambition. Moaning beside him, Tom was the most beautiful he had ever been, and Abraxas felt like the luckiest person in the world to get to see such an exquisite sight. To get to hear the endless crackling of Tom’s preternatural magic, to be with someone who despite being mortal, was the most sublime other-worldly creature he had ever met.  
~  
The Summer that was fast approaching was to be their first apart: Abraxas was required to stay at home and listen to his mother drivel about which girl would continue the Malfoy legacy. Abraxas was praying it wouldn’t be Parkinson, that might just kill him, but his mother had been to France recently and from her letters she rather liked it, so he was unlikely to have ever even met his future wife. Tom was going away, initially, he had been reluctant to tell him where, but Abraxas had stubbornly refused to let him leave the common room until he had told him. Tom had reluctantly revealed he was going to South-Eastern Europe. A little more pressing and he revealed he was going to Albania. When Abraxas had asked him how he was planning to get there, Tom had shrugged and implied he would find a way. Abraxas had rolled his eyes and promised to finance it, only if Tom told him definitively why he was going nearly two-thousand miles away. Tom tried to dodge the question, tried to get passed Abraxas and out the door, Abraxas had stopped him. In the end, he admitted he was going to find the diadem he had mentioned in passing once or twice. When Abraxas asked why he’d told him he already knew why. Abraxas had let him go then, he did not understand Tom’s obsession with horcruxes, with wanting to live forever. Part of Abraxas wished he had the motivation to want to live forever, right now he could hardly imagine surviving another twenty years, let alone a whole other lifetime. But he also knew there was no point trying to dissuade Tom once he’d made up his mind: if Tom wanted to split his soul again, then Abraxas was powerless to stop him.   
~  
They spent their last day lying out on the grass in full view of anyone who cared to look. Everyone knew Tom had done well, even before any exam results were released, Abraxas knew he’d failed at least one exam but that didn’t really matter, he was a Malfoy no one would dare not to give him a job, and anyway Slughorn had given him a glowing reference that even his father was proud of.  
Tom was staring up at the cloudless sky, one hand intertwined with Abraxas’ hair. He was pulling the strands gently and twisting them around his fingers. Abraxas assumed he got some enjoyment out of it.   
Neither of them had acknowledged the inevitable: that tomorrow they weren’t really going to be part of each other’s lives anymore. Tom had promised to come back, the unspoken words at the end of that sentence had been ‘for the wedding’. He had promised that he wouldn’t abandon Abraxas, promised that they were better together no matter what happened to either of them. Abraxas believed him, he had no reason not to, he was, had been, and would continue to be closer to Tom than to anyone else in the world. He had other friends, after all, he’d known all the other purebloods from the endless parties his mother was so keen on hosting, but none of them was quite as special as Tom.


	4. A marriage

Over the summer Abraxas got engaged. Everyone sent their congratulations. Everyone except Tom, Tom did not reply to any of the letters he sent.  
Although they were engaged, Abraxas had met his future wife only three times, and never alone. Each time she came and sat quietly while her mother talked to his mother. She was attractive in a delicate sort of way, like the first days of Spring. She was also a former Beauxbatons student.   
Sitting across from him she seemed the perfect pureblood: pretty, patient, polite, dull. He spent most of their afternoon meetings counting the flowers on her white dress. They were never allowed to be alone together, their parents thought that would be scandalous, and the last thing either of them wanted was to invite a scandal. So, they just sat opposite, him studying her dress and, her studying his shoes.   
Their engagement party was organised for September and they would marry in February not the coming year but the next, a respectable engagement followed by a respectable marriage. The long engagement allowed all the preparations to be made, and them to both turn twenty, marriages too young were always frowned upon, it was thought that before twenty most people were too immature. It also allowed Abraxas to start building his career and his wife to learn how to run her new home. There was also a long-held tradition that all Malfoy weddings took place in winter. Mostly because winter weddings were more expensive, and they looked grander especially if it was snowing, and these days no one dared to marry in the winter months for fear of offending whichever Malfoy was to marry next.   
Abraxas knew his wedding was to be the grandest affair for a century, the display of wealth that proved the Malfoys were still the imperial family amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight, prove to them there was a reason you listened to a Malfoy; all he had to do was turn up, he was already dreading it.  
~  
The engagement party was a taster, a chance to wet guest’s appetites for what was to come. It was elegant and tasteful and filled with people he hardly knew. All his parent’s friends and all his fiancée’s parent’s friends. His friends were there as well, all of them except Tom: who had sent a brief note stating he would not be England and so could not attend. He offered no explanation or congratulations, only suggesting he would be returning before Christmas.   
He sat for most of the duration with Lestrange of all people, he was the only other who would have to be married so young, and the only one who’s marriage would also be arranged for him. The others could choose, within reason, their own brides. They didn’t understand what it was like to have your whole life planned out for you, but Lestrange understood, although he saw the arrangement as far more flexible. Faithfulness was not something Lestrange saw as a necessity in these sorts of associations. His marriage was to be in the summer of the same year as Abraxas’, he just didn’t know who it would be to yet. Lestrange was irritatingly blasé about it all, he didn’t see marriage as a restriction, just another form of entertainment. Abraxas wished he had that light-hearted outlook in life, had Lestrange’s far-fetched ambitions and had his wild eyes. Later, when no one was looking he foolishly accepted Lestrange’s liquor-stained lips against his own. Foolishly let Lestrange talk him into taking him to his room. Foolishly let him push him against the wall and do inexcusable things; his mouth hot on his neck and his voice slow and purposeful, like Tom. He was foolish to let Lestrange do those things, but he wanted them, wanted some way of telling someone that he could do what he liked, even though they both knew he couldn’t.   
He stumbled down just before midnight, having taken too long for no one to notice his absence. Most people had noticed as his father told him in his hushed but firm way, as he gripped his arm and demanded an explanation. Abraxas lied, and his father narrowed his eyes, only letting the subject drop because there were people coming into the room.   
Even later, when Abraxas could barely keep his eyes open and a headache was blaring in his temple, he had his first conversation with his future wife. She had sat beside him on the stairs, a small glass of cranberry juice in her hand, perfectly at ease with the late hour. She had smiled, looking enviably beautiful with her hair pinned back like that, and talked about the stars. They were a hobby of hers apparently to watch the stars and dream of everything that could have been. She had said he looked handsome like a sort of seraph, but that black didn’t suit him. That was something else she liked, clothes, clothes and jewellery and flowers. Then she had gone, as graceful and momentary as a Sylph. He almost felt he had dreamed her, but the next morning when she came down to breakfast there was a telling glimmer in her pale eyes. In that moment he wondered whether it would be so bad to marry her.  
~  
The months before his wedding and they were just months, his mother insisted, passed quickly. But still, he was not allowed to be alone with the woman who would become his wife. They were occasionally allowed to walk together under the careful supervision of her elderly spinster aunt, those walks were nice, however, they gave Abraxas none of the satisfaction that Tom’s letters did.  
At first, they were sporadic, but slowly they became more frequent until they arrived on a near-weekly basis. Tom preferred to write rather than come, he said he didn’t want to disturb a busy household, it was a poor excuse. He shared everything he was doing and occasionally managed to ask Abraxas questions about his own existence. Those letters became his foundation, his reason to get up every morning and actually go to his job in the Ministry. He had hoped Tom would accept many of the positions open to him, and thereby enable them to see each other, but Tom being Tom, declined them all. Abraxas tried to explain to him that it was easier to change a government if you were actually in it, however, Tom was uninterested. Apparently, his job was rewarding in its own way, and anyway he’d written, he didn’t want to change the government, he wanted to topple it. Abraxas had burned that letter. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Tom meant the words he wrote, but that didn’t mean it was the kind of thing that should be openly exhibited. It would take time before people started to think the way Tom wanted them to think, it would take time for Tom to become what he wanted to become.   
~  
His wedding arrived far faster than it should have done. A month before he’d rowed loudly with both his parents over his choice of best man. Tom had been his choice, his parents had preferred someone else, someone accomplished, recognisable, distinguished. Eventually, they had relented, but only because he threatened to tell the magazines that he was abandoning the entire charade.   
Tom arrived the week before. He was just as gorgeous if not more so and easily managed to dispel his parent’s concerns, charming both of them into fully accepting his position at their son’s wedding. That night Tom had let him taste his lips but nothing more. Instead, he had just stayed with him, in the same room they had shared so much of their lives, letting Abraxas hold his forearm, and listen to Tom’s gentle treads through his mind as he fell asleep.   
On the day of the ceremony, Tom was everything he should have been. He smiled, hand firmly on the curve of Abraxas’ back, grounding him, keeping him at the altar. Never leaving his head, always soothing his nerves, quieting his concerns, alleviating his stresses. As his wife entered, and nobody was looking, Tom whispered profanities in his ear, his teeth against the lobe, murmuring all the filthy things he would let Abraxas do if he went through with this. Then he was gone, and his bride was beside him.  
Everyone said she looked stunning, the prettiest bride to ever walk down an aisle. Her dress striking the perfect balance between flattery and warmth, hugging her lovely figure while highlighting the fine bones of her face. Her skin was as clear and pale as the snow that fell outside, and the pale flowers she held made her look like royalty. But Abraxas barely saw her. Barely saw any of the splendour set out in his honour, and certainly didn’t appreciate what had gone into the most expensive wedding of the century.   
The swans made of glassy ice passed him by, as did the thousands of sparkling lights hanging from the trees, he didn’t hear the music of the silver orchestra that played or see the pretty pink flowers that covered every surface. He only saw Tom’s dark eyes, only saw his white smile and the colour of his skin against the snow. He would have been hypnotised by Tom forever, had the latter not nudged him lightly and told him to pay attention.   
Then the world came back into his sight with shocking clarity. He heard every sound dampened by the snow, saw every flicker in the lights, felt his wife’s delicate hand in his own. She was smiling, and she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Her eyes were nothing like Tom’s, an ashen blue, nor was her face, she was stunning, and Abraxas had an overwhelming urge to kiss her. He did so, in front of the cameras and the guests and Tom.   
He caught Tom’s eye later and saw an expression he’d never seen before, it was inimical, hostile and deeply unfriendly. It was also gone the second Abraxas’ mother went to speak to him. He hadn’t dwelt too long on that gaze, he’d been swept off to take photos under the snow-laden trees, then to dinner and always smiling, at least, pretending this was the best night of his life.   
Tom watched him through the meal, he could feel his sticky eyes never leaving him despite sitting across the table. To anyone else, Tom looked the perfect guest, happy for his friend, but Abraxas knew Tom and there were shadows in his face. Dark shadows smothered him leaving a cold look that made Abraxas’ stomach turn.   
Nevertheless, he smiled, his wife smiled, his parents smiled, her parents smiled, the guests smiled, and Tom smiled. Most people were caught up in the wonder, in the lavish expense of such a wedding. Everything hovering on the line between ostentatious and a modest display that suggested what was on show, was just a fraction of what a Malfoy could do. There was nothing out of place and it stayed like that. They danced their first dance together, her hand on his neck, his on the curve of her back, their other hands clasped together, just like their mothers had told them to, saying it would make such wonderful photographs. In that small moment, they felt so close like they had really become one flesh. She was still beautiful, still radiant, like a piece of fine glass. He promised her the world then, promised she would never need to be afraid, that she could live however she liked, with him or without him, he wouldn’t mind. She had murmured back, her lips warm against his cheek, that she wanted to be with him, wanted to try and find something in the vestiges of their parent’s meddling. He had kissed her cheek and promised he would try, that maybe they could build a happy life together and rule their own little world. For one moment Abraxas’ mind was soothed by someone other than Tom. Then their dance was over, and they were dragged apart. That was their only moment together, alone and uninterrupted. He saw her later with her maid-of-honour, the one who paid too much attention to Tom, she smiled but did not come over to him.   
He stumbled out into the snow-covered gardens, the moon was hidden by the grey clouds that were just starting to sprinkle the world with snow again. His head ached, and the champagne had clouded his thoughts; he wanted to just lie in the cold snow; wanted to stop the droning in his head and cool the heat that was smouldering just under his skin. The world started to blur, colours streaming together and shapes colliding and lights shining too bright. Tom’s hands brought him back to reality. Those hands steadied him, sat him on the edge of the water fountain far enough from the house that they couldn’t be seen.   
The cold snow was nice on his hands, and his cold hands were nice on his neck. Tom was quiet in those moments, although Abraxas could feel his thoughts pulsating through the air. He was just looking at Abraxas, his dark eyes, darker, lips smiling but eyes detached from this world. There was something troubling Tom, it filled the air, simmering, festering, waiting for Tom to articulate it.   
Despite the unease in the air, he looked more like an angel than ever, and Abraxas had been captivated, spellbound, entranced by something deep inside Tom. Sensing this, Tom kissed him, hot and wet, and filled with adrenaline and an electricity Abraxas never felt before, it was overwhelming. So, overwhelming he did not notice Tom leaning over him until he fell into the fountain’s basin, breaking the thin layer of ice that had covered it.   
He lay there for a moment, icy water making his teeth chatter, trying to understand what Tom just did, and why he had just done it. Tom had hauled him out without answering either of those questions. He’d led him back to the house where his mother had all but dragged him up the stairs herself to go and change. Tom had smiled, said he could help and they disappeared.   
Abraxas was still shaking when they got to his room, Tom had stubbornly refused to answer anything he had asked through his shivering. As soon as they were in his room Tom had asked where the key was, Abraxas had given it to him without thinking, by the time he thought to ask, Tom’s tongue was searing against his cold skin. Before he could ask what Tom thought he was doing, his hands were already loosening his sodden clothes. Tom’s hands were all over him, daring Abraxas to come with him into the dark. Abraxas foolishly accepted, turning to face Tom, to kiss him, to tug at Tom’s own clothes.   
He was rougher than he had ever been before, pushing and pulling Abraxas how he wanted him. There was no softness, no gentleness, just a brutal atavistic need that pushed Abraxas onto his front, a forceful hand covering his mouth, pulling his hair and making him groan. Tom’s hand was heavy on his jaw, fingers pressing into his cheekbones, quieting Abraxas’ long careless moans. He could hear the party two stories below, the incessant drone of music, the hum of voices, the continuous thumping of feet, all of them oblivious to the throbbing of Abraxas’ heart, to his needy whines unmistakable when Tom removed his hand and trailed it down Abraxas’ stomach. His arms ached and his whole body was shaking as Tom purred the same filthy words he had said earlier: what a scandalous dissolute whore he was, what a disreputable slag, what a slut. Tom’s breath was so hot on his neck and Abraxas groaned into the pillow. All he could feel was the intense pounding of his heart and the silky smoothness of the cover against his cheek and the smell of lavender mixing with Tom’s cologne and his own sweat. He felt so weak, mind filled with a never-ending fog merging with the almost painful twisting in the pit of his stomach.   
He lay there, fingers curled in his damp hair, breathing too heavily, a pool of his own saliva wetting his cheek, and feeling so filthy. Slowly, he came back to himself, came to feel Tom lying beside him, thumb sliding down the ridges of his spine, came to feel the tingling in his shaking hands. He rolled onto his back, lips still hungry for Tom’s. As Tom looked at him, Abraxas slid into his head and finally recognised that emotion, the one that had been flickering all night, the one Tom had been doing his best to hide behind a mask of apathy. It was an intense resentment spawning from the first serious human threat Tom had ever encountered: Abraxas’ new wife. Tom had not missed the glimmer of affection in Abraxas’ gaze, and he had started on an offensive to which Abraxas had foolishly yielded. But in this moment, he did not care, his mind still so fogged with a hunger, still so clouded with a high he couldn’t explain, he leaned over and kissed Tom, letting the latter press him against the sheets, hands tracing his ribs and teeth against his neck. Neither Abraxas nor his best man reappeared that night.   
In the morning, when his body had come down from its orgiastic high and his thoughts were no longer obscured to him, he understood the enormity of what he had done, of what Tom’s heady words had convinced him was a good idea.   
He had showered, trying to scrub away every shadow Tom had left, hide every stain and blemish and imperfection; hide his shame. He’d looked in the mirror and tied back his hair. He did not look at Tom, who was still asleep despite the morning sun flooding the room. He’d gone to breakfast and tried his best to forget the wedding night he’d spent in bed with his best man, and not with his wife.


	5. A subservience

He did not see Tom again before he left for his honeymoon, his heart still conflicted about what he really wanted: the safety and security of a proper family, with a woman who was willing to give their difficult situation a chance to blossom. Or the wild, uncultivated world filled with perils and excitement and adrenaline-fuelled thrills, that Tom offered. He was torn between two worlds, two lives and he didn’t which one he wanted to live.  
As a result, they merged, Tom’s darkness seeping through the cracks Abraxas left wide open for him. He was a frequent guest at their home. On the surface, Tom got along with everyone, his mother, his father and his wife. But she confessed, when he had gone, that she did not like Tom, did not like his smile or his mannerisms, they were too predatory, too nasty. But Abraxas did not see that side of Tom, he knew it was there, lurking just below the surface, but it never reared its head while he was around. He was ashamed he had never listened to his wife’s concerns, rolled his eyes at her fearful imagination.   
Tom was sleek, smooth and glossy, a perfect ‘le genie du mal’ just holding onto his sanity, so Abraxas never stopped him doing things he never thought he would permit: Tom’s hand on his waist, fingers drawing patterns on his back, even when his wife was watching. Never did he explain the situation, there was no way to explain it. He didn’t even know why he let Tom do it, maybe it was love, maybe it was a nostalgic yearning to be younger, and more innocent again.   
At first, he drew the line at Tom’s mouth against his own, though as usual, his resistance to Tom’s advances crumbled and he let Tom do whatever he wanted. In those moments Tom’s hands were so smeared with a possessiveness that when he touched Abraxas all he could already feel was the proprietorial control they exerted. He was completely at the mercy of Tom, and there was nothing he could do about it but accept his favours, not that Abraxas really minded. Where his wife saw a poison spreading through their home, a rot settling wherever Tom stood, the air reeking of decay long after Tom had gone, Abraxas saw nothing but his friend, his mortal lover.   
Really, he should have been grateful to his wife, for whatever she saw she never spoke of it, not even to her friends, she dwelt alone in her overwhelming loneliness. Soon, when Tom walked into the room, she would leave, announcing she was going out. Sometimes she wasn’t back for days. He never knew where she went, or who she went with if she went with anyone at all. They stopped asking about each other’s lives, choosing to focus solely on their own singular existences. It was an arrangement that suited them well, or at least Abraxas thought so. Without his wife’s presence, he felt less guilty about laying on the bed, Tom beside him, staring at the ceiling, listening to Tom’s plans so vivid that they could almost see them hanging above them. Without her, he could believe the moans Tom pulled from his mouth were justified and that his insatiable want for Tom was not a mortal sin.   
Tom became his secret compulsion, the spectre that hung in the halls and no one spoke of. His wife, when she was around, would stare distastefully at Tom’s hands on her husband, but she wouldn’t say anything. She never complained, and he never saw the error in his ways. Never saw that he gorged himself on Tom’s charisma, glut himself on Tom’s unimaginable aura and could never sate the gnawing hunger in his stomach. Every warning was ignored as the shadow enveloped him, he didn’t care for sleep or for food as long as he had Tom by his side. He ignored the protests of his parents, said they didn’t understand, and eventually they stopped speaking to each other. Words like dependence, obsession, addiction hovered around the house, permeating the air and making it thick with a thousand rumours of the state of the Malfoy heir. But the apathy spread deep and Abraxas did not care for their observations, for anyone’s observations. He cared only for an apparition that wore Tom’s face. Only cared that he could spend his days drowning in his expensive existence with Tom by his side, only cared for the colour of Tom’s eyes submerging him in their angelic world, only cared to be buried under Tom’s sickly-sweet smiles. Abraxas was drunk on Tom’s spirit seeing the world as his captive angel saw it, so stained with imperfections, the colours bleeding together and dripping like candle wax before his too brighter eyes.   
His mind was filled with a perpetual haze and his heart was wrapped in shadow. Tom’s hands dipped in darkness leaving their stains all over his body. Mouth devouring every inch of him, lips smoothing the cracks between illusion and reality. His body adorned with Tom’s, glazed with his glittering virtues and smeared with his sins. There was a glory in Tom’s vice, a wonder when his dark hair was between Abraxas’ pale thighs, a brilliance in the way Tom’s hands held him, an exaltation in what Tom did to him. But there was a horror too, the garish way he forced Abraxas to see the world, the rawness in his throat, the simplicity in the way he took everything and yet still, Abraxas fell deeper into Tom’s depravity. Plummeted further into the haunting web Tom had so carefully cultivated for him and he loved every sweat-slicked second of it, every smoke-filled delusion, every wonder drenched dream, and all because Tom was by his side.  
~  
He only truly understood where five years of his life had gone when Tom’s work had pulled him suddenly away, rupturing Abraxas’ world and plunging him back into reality. Then he had seen the extent of his infatuation, seen the dismayed faces of his family. Seen his own face, infected with a sickness whose name he knew too intimately. He’d felt so filthy, so disgusting, so weak that he barely recognised himself although his eyes were his own.   
He’d left the house for the first time he could remember and breathed in the damp air. The rain on his skin made him feel human again, an ephemeral sublunary mortal and he’d felt more alive than he believed to be possible.   
Eventually, he’d found his wife at her family’s home in Europe. Seeing her again had filled him with so much shame, a deep disgust at himself and everything he’d so willingly become. He had honestly been surprised when she had agreed to go away with him, another honeymoon. A chance to reconnect, realign themselves again. He did not tell Tom. Tom didn’t have to know, shouldn’t know. His wife may have loved him, but she rejected Tom and everything he brought out in her husband.   
~  
That month was the most perfect of his entire life. With his wife the air wasn’t so heavy, wasn’t so overwhelming, he did not feel like his lungs were constantly being crushed and he was fighting for air. No, with her the air was sweet, fresh, clean. She was the cool winter to Tom’s oppressive summer and he’d never felt so grateful to have another human being by his side. Another mortal with warm blood flooding through their veins and a love of life in their heart. Tom was lukewarm on life, only because it led to death; his hands were cold as was his tongue and his heart and his words. None of Tom was bejewelled with humanity anymore, now that Abraxas really thought about it, Tom was just a pretty shell like a Fabergé egg, but without the wonder in its centre.  
Her hands were warm when she touched his face and her lips were just as soft as Tom’s against his own but kissing her wasn’t as suffocating as kissing Tom. Tom’s mouth was sticky, slowly sucking the life from him. She breathed life into him, and Abraxas did not mind being beneath her soft body. With her, making love was easy and indulgent, filled with warmth and scattered with long kisses. He felt grounded and safe, not flung, abandoned into the wild as he had done with Tom.   
The return of the Malfoys to England was a news story bursting with rumours, they had been gone for longer than anyone could fathom and when they returned everyone could see the difference. Abraxas looked like a man just-married, the gazes that passed between them were the envy of every young couple who dream of finding that true love. They moved back to his ancestral home and he made peace with his parents. Tom became a memory, a nameless guest only ever invited to be amongst the crowds and never permitted into the house alone. When he came close, eyes alight with something reckless, she gripped Abraxas’ hand tighter and they passed a pleasant conversation, and nothing more. Abraxas could still taste the craving on his tongue, the need to be overflowing with Tom’s intoxicating thrill, the desire to be inundated with Tom. His fingers twitched for Tom’s hands against his skin, but his heart was lulled by his wife and her compassion, her understanding, her benevolence that made him feel no better than a simple commoner.   
Even when his parents died, she stood by his side, sheltering him from Tom’s increasingly impatient advances. Kept him safe from Tom’s dream-drenched words perfectly designed to entertain and amuse and make him fall in love all over again.   
They had stood together at the funeral and he had stared straight through Tom, ignoring him mentally, physically and in every other imaginable way. His wife had taught him to be good at occlumency, to hide his thoughts so that even if he was aching for Tom, no one would ever know, for that he was eternally grateful. The ability to be private, to be safe from Tom and the gentle pathways he had soldered into his mind.   
The birth of his son weakened the last ties he had with Tom. He completed Abraxas’ conversion, completed his new family, gave him a new purpose, a new existence where Tom’s frustrations had no place. Not to mention Tom hated children, they were so useless, so defenceless, children were so weak, and Tom had no place for weakness.   
~  
Tom came to see him one more time, his wife was away with their son and he was alone. Tom had smiled, touched his shoulder lightly. Abraxas had shown him to the sitting room and they had sat opposite each other in silence like they always had done. Tom had told him what he intended to do: go across Europe to discover everything he needed to, everything he would need to change the world forever. He invited Abraxas to come with him, for them to be better together once more. He had declined. Tom’s face had twisted then, and he was no longer handsome, instead, for the first time, Abraxas could see his true heart. It was deformed, distorted beyond recognition, the butchered remains of something beautiful. Abraxas had looked away and they had returned to silence.   
Quietly Tom admitted what he had already done, admitted another corpse was lying waiting to be found. Abraxas did not betray his disgust; such blatant murder was below him these days. But Tom was a force of nature and did as he pleased, and if he so desperately wanted to split his soul not once more, but twice, then he was all but welcome, as long as he understood he would be doing it alone. Abraxas had a family: a wife, a son, a reputation. He didn’t have Tom’s luxury of being unknown, a nameless individual who, for all intents and purposes, was just like everybody else. He did not withdraw his support though and Tom left with his blessing.   
He did not see Tom again for a very long time, but not seeing did not equate to not being in contact with. Abraxas was fairly certain he was the only one Tom kept in regular contact with. He was the front for Tom, if you wanted to know what Tom was doing, you asked Abraxas Malfoy.   
Sometimes his letters were just business, other times they were more personal. Tom forcing himself to ask polite questions about Abraxas’ job, his friends, even his wife. He burned those letters. Abraxas preferred not to talk about her, she was his lovely secret and Tom’s sickness would not touch her as it had touched him.   
Tom’s disappearance from the face of the earth for nearly ten years, led to the nicest seven years of Abraxas’ life. He could love his wife freely, hold her hand as they sat together in the sitting room or go on long walks together around the grounds of their home. They could watch their son grow up, go to Hogwarts, begin his own life. He could be a father, a husband, a man who enjoyed his life from the sophisticated luxury of extensive dinner parties to the simple pleasure of watching the little birds scattered about the lawn, to the humble bliss of being able to hold his wife in his arms and watch the fire die down.   
In those years his family was perfect and the sickness that Tom had brought into their home slowly cleared, but neither of them could deny the sourness settling in the air. The whispers that passed through pureblood circles, a faceless presence that everyone could feel mounting. Choices had to be made, sides chosen, but nothing was said in public, in public the wealthiest looked out into the world with smiles on their faces. Behind closed doors though, the smiles faded. Generations were divided, new alliances were formed, and arrangements were made. People were preparing, what for, no one knew, but whatever it was to be, it was going to be spectacular.


	6. A monster

His next meeting with Tom was when Tom came to ask him a favour. He had changed, they both had changed in those seven years. Tom was no longer mortal, not in any of the common uses of the word. Now, he was twisted, warped, a fallen angel willing to use such perverted means to achieve his goals. Abraxas was older, and he liked to think wiser. He could see so clearly the shadows that leaked from Tom, they dark and sinister, an insidious rot that had begun many years before, when he had been too blind to see.   
He supposed Tom expected him to be flattered that he should deign to come to see him in person when he could have sent someone, anyone, else to do such menial things. But they both knew why Tom had come himself. Any of the Lestranges could have come, but Abraxas wasn’t keen on his former friend’s family: their dedication to Tom unnerved him, when he was young he had idolised such a devotion, but to see it, in reality, was horrifying. Tom knew how much he disliked them and clearly, he wanted Abraxas to do his bidding today and thus he needed to be marginally more accommodating.   
The problem Tom had come with was that he didn’t like Nobby Leach, didn’t like everything he stood for. He just wanted him gone, that was all, and Abraxas was exactly the sort of person that could orchestrate such a disappearance. Abraxas was by no means keen on a mudblood in such a position, however, he wasn’t going to muddy his name just because Tom wanted him to. He had a wife, a son, a reason to keep his name clean from all the murky things Tom so loved to do. He had refused, said he wouldn’t do what Tom wanted just because Tom had wanted it, that he’d have to ask one of his menials to do it instead. Tom had asked him to obey, he had told Tom the same thing he had told him so many years ago: Tom was not his superior and he would not be told what to do.   
Tom’s face had twisted, a nasty sneer mutilating further the carnage of a formerly pretty face. He had glared at Abraxas, though Abraxas stood his ground, not bothering to draw his wand. There was no point fighting Tom, he would win; if he wanted to kill Abraxas he could in an instant, if he wanted to torture him, then he could, and Abraxas would take it, but he would not give Tom the satisfaction of seeing him cry, seeing him beg or even seeing him bow to Tom simply because it was what everyone did these days.   
Once he would have seen the world like Tom, but he had grown up, learnt that to get what you wanted, you had to be astute, careful and above all cooperative: lose some to gain more. Tom didn’t understand because Tom was not of this world, was not of the articulate circles of wealth. Tom was too crude, too disadvantaged to understand how the world truly worked.   
Anyway, he knew he was too much like Tom for Tom’s comfort. Abraxas was sure his old-friend remembered their summers under the oak tree, remembered that Abraxas had split his soul as well, remembered that ‘killing’ Abraxas would cause him more problems further down the line. That was why Tom was here tonight because no one else knew, and Tom would like to keep it that way. Keep all his lackeys in the dark that there was another who could potentially challenge everything Tom was preparing, that there was another who knew all his secrets. Tom would rather that even his most faithful servants did not find out all his dark secrets.   
Although Tom had glared at him, he had left with curses on his lips. Abraxas knew he would be back, knew that as much as he wanted to, he could not win against Tom.   
~  
Tom came back in dramatic fashion. It was published in every newspaper: the sudden and tragic death of Mrs Malfoy in an accident so horrific that there were no pictures. Abraxas knew from her yelps who had done it, he also knew why. Yet he couldn’t quite believe that Tom would stoop so slow, would be so incredibly petty just to get his attention. It was pathetic really.  
He had kept her alive long enough for Abraxas to see her mangled body, contorted and disfigured. He kept her alive for long enough for Abraxas to see the tears in her eyes, long enough to know his brilliant wife was in agonising pain and just wishing to die.   
He did not tell his son the truth, it was only lead to him doing something stupid, trying to avenge his mother and losing his own life in the process. It was far better he believed a disturbing but ultimately safer lie, than the horrific truth.   
They all the had the audacity to come to the funeral, all apart from Tom, although Abraxas figured that was due to his own agenda rather than any sort of respect. Abraxas wondered as he walked behind the coffin, glancing at all the faces he recognised, how many of them knew the truth. Lestrange did, as did his wife, he could tell by the glimmer in his eyes. He supposed their children did as well, both apparently old enough to partake in the same depraved actions as their parents, it was a very provincial parenting style, vulgar really that parents thought it was appropriate to raise their children in that way. He hoped his own son would not grow up to be like that.   
Lucius looked so small, so young walking his head down, not crying because Malfoys didn’t cry. He had been close to his mother, he would miss her, and he would never understand. A small part of Abraxas worried that in some obscure way his son would blame him for his mother’s demise. That he would become the villain. Though, if Lucius had such thoughts he did not share them with his father.   
When everyone else had gone, his son already returning to school as there was no use for him here, Abraxas sat beside the damp earth, his head resting on the gravestone, fingers stroking a petal of the hundreds of flowers that sheltered her. His only comfort was that while Tom had kept her alive for him to see her pain, he had inadvertently kept her alive for long enough for him to see her strength, to see her love, to hear her thoughts telling him he was not to blame, that she had always known this was coming, from the first moment she’d seen the way Tom looked at him; and she’d lived her life accordingly. She had loved him, and she hadn’t blamed him, that was all Abraxas needed to know, that she had been happy in what little he had given her.   
~  
Tom had come back a week later, the same request on his lips. Abraxas had accepted although he made it clear he was not scared of Tom, not of his cruelty, not of his brutality and certainly not of his spiteful pettiness. Tom did not like to be called petty or childish or any of the things he was, but he couldn’t do anything about it, after all, to wipe out the entire Malfoy line would have appeared drastic to even his most loyal followers.   
Within a year Nobby Leach was gone from the Ministry, it gave Abraxas only marginal pleasure, the cost was too high for him to really have enjoyed it. He was quietly impressed that his name was kept to such a minimum, he had expected there to be at least some repercussions, but his name was but a shadow that no one dared to mention in connection with such a dishonest affair. Such was the ease, he almost wondered what else he could have done, what the Malfoy family could have withstood if it really had to. He did not dwell on the thought. Those were the thoughts that Tom had used to wonder aloud as they lay on the grass together, he had asked what Abraxas thought he could get away with, and never in his life would Abraxas have believed he actually could elude scrutiny for so many unspeakable acts.


	7. A regret

Tom exploded back into their world too soon. He ignited a conflict so great that no matter what the outcome, he had forced himself into history. Abraxas was the only one of the major pureblood families not to take an active role. He no longer felt a thrill from killing, he had not nurtured that streak, unlike his former friends. He would have preferred not to involve himself at all, and just miraculously appeared at the end to put a crumbling world back into order. Of course, it was not their cause which so disgusted him, even his wife had preferred pureblood company, it was that some of their methodology that was so distasteful. It was too brutal, too upfront; it had none of the subtly or flair that could have made such a conflict interesting. There was too much fear pervading the air, too much death.  
So, he watched from a corner as Tom stalked around his dining room, planning and plotting and ensuring the success of his revolution. Abraxas answered questions when he was asked but otherwise kept silent. Just observing, watching the way Lestrange stood back, still abiding by Tom’s two-foot exclusion zone, the one Abraxas knew he would be allowed to cross should he so desire, he did not. Tom’s smile was unsettling, too filled with a newfound look of arrogance. Tom’s irritating streak of megalomania was surfacing again, it had been becoming more and more noticeable in the last few months. It was a nasty trait that he was slowly losing control of. Abraxas had always been unwilling to acknowledge it even existed, that callousness, that cruelty that bordered on pure sadism, but now it was indisputable.  
He wandered out of the room, bored of Tom, bored of Lestrange, bored of them all. He was the only who could walk out in the middle of a meeting. The others never understood why their leader allowed it, but Abraxas had proclaimed himself too old for such charades if he didn’t want to be there, he wouldn’t be. He would have happily applied the logic to the whole war, abandoned them all to their fate while he absconded away to Europe and waited for it to blow over, he would have done had it not been for Lucius. The boy was only sixteen, he couldn’t leave him now.  
~  
His son graduated from Hogwarts two years later. He was so ambitious, so hopeful for the future he could see being carved before him. Abraxas was proud to see his wife in his son but less keen to see himself. The weakness of will, the ease at which he could be led through glittering words. Not to mention that irrepressible irresponsibility. Lucius wanted to be everything, wanted to be apart of the creation of the new world. It tore Abraxas’ heart to see his son fall under the same spell he had done. So, he tried to teach his son to be wary, to do nothing that he himself had, to never give his entire self to Tom. He tried to teach him that arm’s length was best, that if he were much closer them Tom would swallow him whole, engulf him into his world and Abraxas didn’t want that to happen to anyone else, least of all the boy who had come to mean more to him than anyone in the world.  
Sometimes Lucius would listen apparently understanding what he father was so desperately trying to impart on him, but mostly he stared off into the distance, apparently hearing nothing. Abraxas tried to keep him safe, keep him away from Tom’s more dubious activities, keep him away from the Lestranges and all the disturbing truths that happened in the dark. He knew one day his son would follow Tom, one day he would do his bidding, he just wished he would heed his warnings, he wished Lucius would not die as a nameless victim of war, or worse as a hero whose name would be scorned when the power shifted once more, and opinions of such heroes altered.   
He kept his son away for two years, then he could keep him no longer, his son was an adult, free to do as he chose, free to ignore every piece of advice his father ever gave him. The only comfort he supposed was that his son would not be going into the darkness alone. He married Narcissa Black as soon as his father would let him.   
It was a good match and pleased both families. After all, Narcissa Black was a beautiful, intelligent woman who knew exactly what she wanted and was more than happy to get it herself. He was glad he did have to play matchmaker for his son, that was a role reserved for women and he wouldn’t have had a clue how to go about choosing a bride, let alone one that his son would actually have approved of. Thus, his son and new daughter-in-law’s marriage was more of a blessing than anyone understood.   
It was a beautiful ceremony, in winter just like his own. Everyone attended, everyone was civil to each other and you would hardly have guessed that a war was raging, tearing the world around them apart. He had left halfway through, went to stand outside, beside the same fountain that had been the beginning of his downfall. It was covered in snow just as it had been then, and the snow still cooled his hot hands and his hands still cooled his neck. He spent so long gazing up and the stars that he did not hear Tom approach. They had looked at each other for a moment, then Abraxas had turned back to the stars. Tom shared his congratulations said they made a wonderful couple, said it reminded him of Abraxas’ wedding. Abraxas had swallowed keeping his eyes on the stars, he did not like to think of those days, didn’t like to think of what he had once shared so blatantly with Tom. They had just stood there in silence looking at the stars, Abraxas was torn between wanting to return to those days when Tom was an angel and wanting to forget that they had ever happened.   
Later his son had come to stand by him, to hold his arm and ask for parental reassurance. He had held him closer than he had in the last seven years, held him and told him that his mother would have been so proud, so impressed by the beautiful, distinguished woman he had taken as his wife. She would have been, she would have certainly admired Narcissa’s lukewarm attitude to the situation, willing to support for the sake of blood purity, but not to get her hands dirty. He wished his son were the same.   
Once Lucius was married, he slipped away quicker. Involving himself in the shadier sides of the war, sinking further under the surface of redeemability, until he was just like the rest of them: monsters hidden behind masks, hiding their faces so they never had to take responsibility for anything they did. There were many rumours of what Tom’s ‘death eaters’ did for him, none of them were pleasant. Abraxas had asked his son many times if he was counted as one of these select murderers. Lucius always denied it vehemently, said his father was paranoid. That had satisfied him, it had been thoughtless to accept his son’s word so easily, but he had not thought Lucius had reason to lie to his own father.   
He had continued to accept his son’s word until idle gossip reached his ears. Now he couldn’t remember exactly who had been talking, only that they had been discussing those elite ones, the ones their leader invited into his inner circle, the ones who would shape the new world. At first, he had thought nothing of their conversation, if the young wished to idolise such positions they were more than welcome, but then it happened. The name Lucius Malfoy hovered in the air long after it had left their lips. Abraxas had stayed long after he had finished his coffee, stayed to listen, stayed to understand why his son’s name should be tangled with everything he had so resolutely warned him against. Ostensibly it seemed his son had a penchant for cruelty, for torture, for using the most severe curses to achieve the simplest means. Perhaps he shouldn’t have believed such flimsy rumours, especially when he had no tangible proof to demonstrate his son’s guilt. However, he had no proof of his innocence either, and deep in his heart he distrusted his son, distrusted him not to have fallen hard for Tom’s spellbinding words, for his compulsive vision. Lucius had his father’s heart, a predisposition towards believing the most entrancing people, a proclivity for following a hypnotist even to his death, but the thing that set them apart was his son’s lack of will. Abraxas had resisted simply because he was tired of being a toy, his son was still content with such an existence and Abraxas wondered whether anything would ever change that.   
Initially, he had just questioned his son, over dinner: they always sat opposite each other with Narcissa at the head of the table. Lucius had gone quiet, considering for too long his answer. The atmosphere became suddenly cold and unspoken implications bounced between the walls. Narcissa had excused herself early, clearly sensing an argument brewing.   
After dinner, they had rowed, loudly. Lucius had denied to his father that he was a monster, that he could be so sadistic, so inhuman. He acted so offended, so shocked that his father would even suggest such a thing, but the flicker in his face suggested otherwise. Their arguing had continued, jibes and retorts, accusations and denials, allegations and refutations. Both saying words neither of them would mean later but in the moment seemed so important to say. Eventually, in a hoarse voice, dry anger clogging his throat, Lucius had admitted it; confessed what he did in the dark, behind the safety of a metal mask. Abraxas had stared in silence at his son, barely recognising his face. Where once had stood an innocent boy, now there as a man so lost his shadows, he would never find his way out. He’d shaken his head, almost in disbelief, the sudden knowledge that his own son was no better than any of them. The knowledge that this was what his son wanted from his life, wanted for his wife, wanted for his future children. In that moment he had no more words for his son. No words would ever express the overwhelming disappointment Abraxas felt towards his son, the sadness that he had failed, that despite his best intentions Lucius had still lost his way.   
From that night onwards, a coldness fell over the house, neither of them speaking to each other, their relationship became functional and nothing more. Narcissa marginally kept the peace or at least allowed a degree of civility to continue, allowed everyone to think that there was nothing wrong and that the Malfoy family was as happy as it would ever be.


	8. An ending

From then on Abraxas could hardly stand to be in the same room as Tom. He did not want to be near the man whose actions would result, at best, in the life imprisonment of his son, and, at worst, his untimely death.  
He removed himself from the meetings early, walked out when Tom was half-way through a point and time and time again Tom let it slide. Even Abraxas was surprised by how far Tom let him take his disobedience and he was certain, had their relationship been better, that his son would ask what passed between them, what had made the most powerful dark wizard in history permit such insubordination from his inner-circle.   
Soon even Tom couldn’t ignore it, there were quiet murmurings about what existed between them, whispers of weakness, of vulnerability, and Tom hated that. He had followed Abraxas out to the oak tree in the English gardens and found him sitting on the grass like a schoolboy. Abraxas had laid on his back staring at the never-ending grey sky, despite the summer season it was cool as if even the weather understood there was no joy left in a war-torn world.   
He had invited Tom to lie with him, Tom had refused, standing back looking at him with most likely disapproval. Abraxas did not care, Tom wouldn’t hurt his son or his daughter-in-law, not now they had proved their usefulness, and to be honest he didn’t care if Tom wanted to hurt him. There was nothing else for him to live for anymore, the world had changed, and he did not fit into the ashen remains.   
Staring up the sky, watching memory blur with reality, seeing Tom’s face smiling in front of him, his soul still, largely, intact, had shown Abraxas the truth he had been denying for so long. His Tom had been wonderful, an astonishing dream, a breath-taking illusion that could cast his spell on anyone, but Tom was gone. The creature before him, the one that had lurked beneath Tom’s skin for so long, before finally clawing its way out, the one that had warped his friend beyond recognition, was the epitome of horror, the embodiment of a human soul pushed beyond what was intended. He supposed the creature had achieved its goal, it was not a mortal anymore, it was unhuman, a monster that no longer resembled the boy he had fallen in love with. Tom was dead, and he had been dead for far longer than Abraxas had been willing to admit.   
It was then Abraxas realised he did not want to a part of this creature anywhere near him, he did not want any sort of connection to such a twisted form. He did not want to be immortal, he did not want to be consumed by what had consumed Tom. So that day, in front of Voldemort he destroyed his horcrux and there was such pain in having half of his soul crushed, butchered by a force he couldn’t see and dared not understand. But there was also such freedom, such brilliance in knowing he was once more flesh and blood, he was once again a mortal who could enjoy the privilege of death.   
On his knees looking up at what he had once called a friend, he couldn’t help but smile because he knew he was more than Voldemort would ever be, he had conquered the greatest fear known to man, the one fear Tom had always had, the one he had confessed to him whilst lying side by side in the dark. Abraxas did not fear death, did not fear to die as a common mortal, he was ready to greet death with open arms and embrace the one true inevitability that comes with life. So, he smiled as he kneeled under the oak tree, smiled because he was finally free from the monster that had held his heart in its ghostly fingers, he was finally free from the horrors of his sempiternal existence and with that freedom he could abandon all sympathy for the creature that paraded with Tom’s story on its shoulders.   
~  
Abraxas had loved Tom, he had always known that, but he couldn’t follow Tom into the dark, couldn’t lose himself for a dream, couldn’t let perpetuity overwhelm him. He had always had a connection to reality, a hand gripping his own, pulling him from the depths. Deep in his heart, Abraxas knew, to some extent, it was his fault Tom had been consumed, he had indulged an unachievable fantasy, encouraged the search for the nadir of depravity. He would always believe maybe he could have saved Tom, but some part of his heart told him, Tom had sealed his own fate and all the love in the world couldn’t have precluded Tom’s fall into the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest piece of fiction I have ever written (or more accurately finished), so thank you for reading it, I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
